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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230936">What They Say About Us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dusksmote/pseuds/dusksmote'>dusksmote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eat That Lunch [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Ass Play, Caught having Sex, Choking, Coming Out, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Family Drama, Fat Shaming, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, Illustrations, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, NSFW Art, Outdoor Sex, Pesach | Passover, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Sex in a Car, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, everyone's versatile, except tweek he's a top, fat Kyle, jock Stan, that viewers aren't aware of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:14:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dusksmote/pseuds/dusksmote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first Passover since Stan and Kyle started dating, and coming out is hard.<br/>Or, all the times they get caught.</p>
<p>With Illustrations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Eric Cartman/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Henrietta Biggle/Kenny McCormick, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eat That Lunch [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>240</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Buddy Holly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fanfic takes place immediately following the events of Eat That Lunch, beginning the same day that story ends. You do not need to have read ETL to understand this story, but I recommend it.</p>
<p>Thank you Moonlight_is_magic and MissLashyLassy for the beta! I wasn't sure I even wanted to write this story at first, and you guys lit a fire under my ass &lt;3</p>
<p>This fanfic has external links to YouTube/Spotify and graphic sex in pretty much every chapter. Enjoy!<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>—</strong>
  </p>
</div><br/><strong>Pesach</strong>: Passover, a major Jewish holiday<br/><strong>Chametz</strong>: leaven or food mixed with leaven, prohibited during Passover<br/><strong>Seder</strong>: Jewish ceremonial dinner held on the first night of Passover
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>It’s mid March, and senioritis has hit early this year. The library is empty after school, except for the usual suspect. At five o’clock Kyle leans on the counter at the reference desk to call out “Library is closing!”</p>
<p>Tweek brings the textbook back up to him, and Kyle bends over to stuff it back on the bottom shelf, exposing red straps.</p>
<p>“Is that a <em> thong?</em>” Tweek asks with a wicked grin.</p>
<p>Kyle straightens up with a flush and tugs down the back of his shirt to cover it. “Hey, how come Craig’s never in here with you?” He bets Craig would love watching him crawl on the carpet putting books away too. “You guys could call it a date.”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh Jesus man! </em> He’s got baseball.”</p>
<p>“Oh right.” Kyle should know this. Stan is their pitcher. “I’m going to the game right after this.” He heads for the door to lock up. </p>
<p>Tweek follows along. “Me too,” he says, and Kyle realizes he’s got Craig’s letterman jacket tied around his waist. Kyle better sling Stan’s back on, it’s a cold walk out to the diamond and he has to show his support.</p>
<p>They walk together, and out of nowhere Tweek blurts “I’m trying to gain ten pounds. It’s so hard, man!”</p>
<p>Kyle scoffs. “Maybe for you.” Tweek is a fucking twig. </p>
<p>Tweek presses against him as they walk, grabbing his arm. “Give me some of your fat!”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, I’ll just carve it off and graft it onto you.” As if it’d be that easy. Kyle shakes him off. “You think that’s hard, trying losing thirty.”</p>
<p>They round the next building and head across the field where the floodlights are already lit and the two teams are warming up.</p>
<p>“Have you tried cocaine?” Tweek asks.</p>
<p>Kyle scrunches his brows and blinks. “Uh, no.”</p>
<p>They enter the stands and Tweek shoots him a wired smile. “Do you want to?”</p>
<p>The game starts a moment later, both teams exchanging high-fives down a line for good sportsmanship. Stan jogs along, slapping hands with his cap crooked, and sporting lucky #5. Fuck he looks good in uniform. Slim fit trousers tight around his quads and hamstrings, with knee-breeches that accentuate his defined calves. He’s got legs for days, and a firm ass to top it all off. Kyle cheers him on. </p>
<p>Stan takes the mound and fingers the ball as he waits for the first batter to step up to the plate, and catches sight of Kyle in the stands. He stands out enough, wide form highlighted in red. Kyle jumps and waves, big arm shaking in Stan’s jacket sleeve. Stan grins and waves the fingers of his mitt.</p>
<p>It’s a nailbiter. Score close all the way to the end, until Kevin hits a double and Craig skids into home plate. Kyle feels like rewarding Stan for such a good game. Tweek sneaks them around to the locker room side door after the last inning and knocks twice, and Craig’s ready and waiting on the other side to let him in. </p>
<p>Tweek’s welcomed into the locker room like he belongs there, instantly falling into the conversation with the guys, and a hand around Craig’s hip. Kyle slinks the other way, and finds Stan stripping to get in the showers and rinse off the day’s sweat.</p>
<p>“Hey dude,” Kyle greets. “Great play.”</p>
<p>Stan jolts up and spins around to him. He’s naked but for the towel over one shoulder, and grins as he wraps his arms around Kyle. Fingers barely meeting on his back. “You look great on the stands.”</p>
<p>They back up into the shower stall and Kyle pulls the curtain shut. </p>
<p>“I got something for you,” he says after a minute of just making out, Stan’s erection pressing against his stomach. He turns around to unzip his pants, and Stan runs a hand over his ass, squeezed tight into dark jeans. Kyle pulls the jacket up and his shirt with it, revealing red straps over the top of his pants. Stan gulps. He hooks his fingers under the pants hem, yanking down the back with a bit of effort. Perfect ass spills out over the fabric.</p>
<p>“This is mine?” he asks, plucking at the thong.</p>
<p>Kyle presses back against his bare crotch, feeling Stan’s hardon against his ass. “That… and the two others that came with it.”</p>
<p>Stan bites his grinning lip, kneading him with both hands. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>Kyle grinds against him, hands to the tiled wall so he can open up his legs. “Why don’t you pull it aside.”</p>
<p>Stan does so eagerly, and strokes fingers between his cheeks. “You got lube?”</p>
<p>“Back pocket, dude.” </p>
<p>Kyle turns on the shower spray to cover their noise, and Stan gasps out as steaming water sprays his back.</p>
<p>“Marsh sounds like he’s having a hell of a shower,” Craig says as he changes in front of his locker.</p>
<p>Tweek grins, hearing Kyle’s name hissed over the sound of water, the wet slapping of skin on skin. Like a heinous symphony. “This doing something for you?” He asks, rubbing a hand against his thigh, framing the tent in his pants. “‘Cause it’s starting to feel humid in here.”</p>
<p>Craig reaches out his hand to palm him. Squeezing Tweek’s bulge as he stares him down coolly. “You wanna reclaim the showers after them?”</p>
<p>Tweek smirks and pulls the locker door half shut to hide himself. “I’m not gonna make it that long, man.” </p>
<p>Craig takes a hint and slips his hand down his pants, backing him into the locker to stroke him off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Half the team is hitting up Shakey’s to celebrate their first win of the season, and Stan and Kyle tag along, grinning like freaks as they dash to catch up. Like they’re so sneaky. No one says anything, so Kyle sniggers and whispers “Think we got away with it?”</p>
<p>Stan slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him close. “We’re sex ninjas.”</p>
<p>Suddenly Kyle feels someone snap the strap of his thong. He jumps and whirls around for the culprit.</p>
<p>Tweek throws up his hands defensively. “Wasn’t me man! The gnomes did it!”</p>
<p>Craig’s got his arm around him. “You guys are so obvious.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>On Saturday the fourteenth Kyle stands in his mirror, holding the open flaps of the letterman jacket and admiring his look. Turns around to read the reversed ‘MARSH 05’ in bold across his shoulders. He’s fresh shaven, hair teased, outfit sharp. Wearing those navy jeans Stan likes and a tight top. Everything is shiny and fresh, with a generous application of Old Spice. Hat? Check. Phone? Check. Ass? Check check. Pleasing to every sense.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle removes the jacket and carries it over his arm as he bounds down the stairs. He hooks around to snag a mint off the coffee table, stepping over the vacuum cord as Ike pulls cushions off the couch to suck out crumbs. </p>
<p>“Mom I’m going out!” Kyle calls, popping a peppermint wheel in his mouth.</p>
<p>She appears from the kitchen looking stern. “Oh no you don’t, Kyle. You have to help your brother clean up all the chametz in the downstairs!” Kyle groans and rolls his eyes. Sheila waves her dustpan at him. “Don’t give me that, young man! You’re in charge of the basement, I know you and Stan snack down there when he comes over.”</p>
<p>“That’s not <em> all </em>they do down there,” says Ike.</p>
<p>Kyle shoots him a warning glare, and his mom shoves the broom into his hands. “Ugh, can’t I just do it later?” He begs. “I’ve got plans today!”</p>
<p>“Passover is next week and we’ve got family flying in!” Sheila cries. “I’m sorry bubbe, you can’t go out until you clean—”</p>
<p>The bell rings, and Kyle jumps to go answer it. His mom stops him with a chop of the hand, pushing the dustpan at him.</p>
<p>“<em>I’ll </em>answer it,” she declares. </p>
<p>Kyle groans dramatically. </p>
<p>The door opens to Stan on the stoop with his hair combed and colors coordinated. Kyle hurries up behind his mother, and Stan perks up seeing him, making a big, shiny smile. “Hi Mrs. B, I’m here for Kyle.”</p>
<p>“Hello Stanley,” Sheila greets. “I’m sorry, I know you have your Saturday ritual, but he can’t hang out today.” </p>
<p>Kyle clasps his hands together, pleading for salvation. “I promise I’ll clean the whole freaking house if you just let me go—”</p>
<p>“Oh Stan—” Sheila looks him over. “Has the baseball season finally started? You’re looking very trim!” Kyle puts a hand over his face. It just keeps getting worse.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah,” he says, looking at his bicep like he hadn’t even noticed. He grins. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Coach wants everyone running laps on the off days. Kyle’s my workout buddy.”</p>
<p>Sheila raises her brows. “Oh he <em> is?</em>” She has a look back at her son, considering his gut in that taut T-shirt. Kyle folds his arms over it and nods with affirmation. “Well that’s very nice to hear, but Kyle can’t go out until all the chametz is gone from the house. It’s a very ancient tradition. You’ll just have to workout together another time.”</p>
<p>Kyle chews his lip and blurts “Uh, Mom! Actually, Stan wanted to know more about Passover traditions.”</p>
<p>She looks surprised. “Really? About Pesach?”</p>
<p>Stan spots his opportunity. “Maybe I could help him get rid of all these kuh-mates, and then he could go?”</p>
<p>Sheila lets him into the house, looking impressed by Stan’s supposed maturity. “Well, it’s nice of you to show an interest, Stanley. Alright, clean the basement and you can go.”</p>
<p>They grab garbage bags and Kyle asks “Can he also come over for Seder?” </p>
<p>Ike lifts his head from the couch. “Hey! If Kyle gets to bring his boyfriend then I wanna bring Karen!”</p>
<p>“Not my boyfriend!” Kyle snaps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They tear the basement apart hunting for breadcrumbs, and Kyle groans as he shuts off the vacuum to check the time on his phone. “I can’t believe we’re spending our one month cleaning up the spooge dungeon. We’re not gonna make it to the aquarium at this rate.”</p>
<p>“I thought I wasn’t your boyfriend,” Stan says with a smirk as he takes cushions off the couch, unleashing the odor. “Jesus, maybe we need to clean more often,” he mutters to himself.</p>
<p>“Haha, ass.” Kyle pulls blanket after blanket out of the shelf under the stairs and shakes them out. </p>
<p>“I’m just worried about the flowers in the truck.”</p>
<p>Kyle snaps up and whips around to him. “Dude—You got me flowers?”</p>
<p>Stan stops sniffing the suspicious stain on one cushion to grin sheepishly. “Just three roses.” Google said it was the traditional gift for the first month anniversary. </p>
<p>“Jesus dude.” Kyle’s smiling too, and gives the afghan in hand another shake. “You’re such a romantic.” Stan throws the cushion at him and Kyle drops the blanket to climb over the couch, yelling “Oh you’re gonna get it!”</p>
<p>They wrestle on top of the scattered cushions. Stan’s got more muscle mass but Kyle outweighs him, and drags him down against the sofa frame. Kyle pins his head to the armrest, tongue in his mouth, and Stan wraps around him as they make out. Kyle puts down a hand for support and something crinkles under his fingers—one of their old lube packets. It must have gotten lost in the cracks.</p>
<p>“Check it out, dude, a relic from our past.” He holds it up with a lecherous smirk.</p>
<p>Stan pants under him, gripping Kyle’s hips to grind against him. “Tear it open with your teeth.”</p>
<p>Kyle raises his brows and bites it. “We’re gonna have to deep clean this couch afterward.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They still have just enough time to get to Denver and zip through all the sections, hand in hand. Ignoring the looks from parents pushing babies in strollers, and the little kid in the coral section who points, asking “Why is he so fat?”</p>
<p>Kyle catches some girl making eyes at Stan in the shark tunnel so he pulls him down into a surprise kiss. Stan smiles into it, hand running up to squeeze his shoulder, and Kyle grins when he hears her shocked scoff.</p>
<p>They make it to the gift shop ten minutes before closing, and Kyle notices Stan staring longingly at a five foot long stuffed orca. </p>
<p>“What are we gonna name our baby?” Stan asks as they carry it out to the nearly empty parking lot.</p>
<p>Kyle pets the head. “He kind of looks like a Rivers Cuomo.”</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Stan smiles. “I was gonna say Robert Smith.”</p>
<p>Kyle grins back. “Rivers Smith?”</p>
<p>They strap him in the backseat with the three roses and Stan turns the key in the ignition. Their burned disc restarts the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQzMHhRCTYw">first track</a>.</p>
<p>“<em>What's with these homies dissin' my girl? Why do they gotta front?</em>”</p>
<p>Stan pulls out his phone. “Wanna do food before we head home?”</p>
<p>Kyle lays a hand on his arm. “I wanna do you first.”</p>
<p>“<em>Woo-hoo, but you know I'm yours. Woo-hoo, and I know you're mine. Woo-hoo, and that's for all time!</em>”</p>
<p>They throw the back of Kyle’s seat down against the one behind it and make out against the upholstery. Kyle reaches back to pop open the glove box and grab Stan’s travel lube as he grinds his ass on him.</p>
<p>“<em>Oo-wee-ooh! I look just like Buddy Holly. Oh-oh! And you're Mary Tyler Moore! I don't care what they say about us anyway—I don't care 'bout that!</em>”</p>
<p>Stan lays back on the seat, hands sliding over Kyle’s bare thighs, smooth shaved and thick. “Fuck, I love you,” he breathes as they fuck, squeezing his ass and bucking up into him.</p>
<p>Kyle meets his thrusts bouncing on him, red curls flopping in Stan’s face. “I love you, dude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In hindsight they probably shouldn’t have stopped for a sit-down meal at Perkins—but fuck does breakfast for dinner sound too damn good. And splitting a piece of cherry pie after makes it all worth it. </p>
<p>“You know,” Kyle says, carving off another slice with his fork, “if you keep telling my mom you’re taking me to the gym she’s gonna get suspicious when I don’t lose weight.”</p>
<p>“My coach is gonna get really suspicious,” Stan replies. He stuffs another forkful in his mouth. “When I end up gaining.”</p>
<p>Kyle chews a moment, then grins. “No way. You gotta keep those abs.”</p>
<p>By the time they get back to South Park it’s long dark. Stan barely gets Kyle back by curfew, narrowly dodging the wrath of Sheila with one minute to midnight. Kyle still tastes like cherries when he leaves him on his doorstep. </p>
<p>“God, I don’t want you to go yet…” Kyle says, hands on his chest. “Don’t let today end, dude.”</p>
<p>Stan squeezes his shoulders. “I know, I love just spending time with you. Even if it’s cleaning up breadcrumbs in your basement.”</p>
<p>Kyle snickers. “Christ, save me from this stupid chametz hunt.”</p>
<p>“I’ll hide you in my room until Passover.” </p>
<p>His breath is hot on Stan’s lips. “My hero.”</p>
<p>So Stan leans down to kiss him again, and Kyle pushes up onto his toes to wrap around his neck and reciprocate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Stan gets back to the farm it’s going on one in the morning. He creeps through the dark downstairs of the farmhouse with Rivers Smith under his arm, feeling like a smooth criminal—until the lights come on and he nearly jumps out of his skin.</p>
<p>“Jesus fucking Christ!” He shouts, spinning around.</p>
<p>His dad stands there in the archway to the kitchen, looking blitzed and eating moose tracks ice cream right out of the carton. “Hey bud. Lookin’ good today. What you been up too all night?” He sounds pretty blitzed too.</p>
<p>Stan groans. “I was out with Kyle.”</p>
<p>“Been taking the truck a lot recently.” He twists the spoon around in his mouth, licking it all over. “It’s good you’re gettin’ out. Guy your age.” </p>
<p>Stan rolls his eyes and starts up the stairs. “Yeah, alright Dad. I’m going to bed.”</p>
<p>Randy follows. “You know you can always tell your old man anything—Bro talk, mono e mono!”</p>
<p>“It’s <em> mano a mano!</em>” Stan snaps, opening his door. He slams it behind him.</p>
<p>Randy crosses the hall and finds Sharon still awake in bed, reading. She glances at him as he steps over to the window. “You gonna put that back in the freezer?” </p>
<p>He looks out over the fields of hemp and brings the spoon back to his mouth, ice cream soupy and slopping down his chin. “Notice anything different about our boy, Sharon?”</p>
<p>She blinks and shuts her book on her lap. “About Stan?” </p>
<p>She hasn’t seen too much of him in recent weeks, he seems to be gone more and more. Staying out past practice, or not coming home at all. He hasn’t been home the past few weekends and his chores are starting to pile up. </p>
<p>The only time he’s around he’s either locked up in his room blaring music with his friends or so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t even respond to his name. Always smiling at his phone or off into space. Come to think of it, every time she looks he’s grinning like a moron. </p>
<p>“He seems happier,” she says.</p>
<p>Randy beams with the vicarious joy of a proud parent. “I think our little Stan has a new girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Really?” It’s been a while since things ended with Wendy, with no mention of girls since. “Good for him.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it great?” Randy asks, sounding stoked on himself. “Now we can talk about chicks and have man bonding! Go out on the lake and drink beers, complain about whatever girly crap she’s into.”</p>
<p>Somehow that doesn’t seem like something Stan would be interested in. “Alright, Randy, don’t smother him. Do you even know for sure?”</p>
<p>“Well—” He scoffs. “No!” He scoffs again. “A dad knows these things, Sharon! Have you <em> smelled </em> the truck recently?”</p>
<p>She grimaces. “Ew. Randy—”</p>
<p>He clenches a fist, nostrils flaring with triumph. “My boy is a man.”</p>
<p>She groans and puts her book on the nightstand, hunkering down to shut off the light and get some sleep. “If Stan <em> wants </em> to talk about it, let him come to you, Randy. You’ll just push him away otherwise.”</p>
<p>She rolls over onto her side and Randy stands at the window a while longer, smiling out over the crop. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t believe it’s been a whole month, man,” Kenny says Monday in the school parking lot, hours after classes let out and all the other cars have gone. </p>
<p>“I know.” Stan lays on the hood of his truck beside him, cloud gazing as they wait for Kyle to get off work. Kenny puffs a cigarette, smoke fading out into the crisp March air as Stan’s mind rewinds.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>It’s gone by so fast. Fifteen years as best pals with minor hitches, schisms that always worked themselves out. Sure Stan thought they had chemistry, but nothing he’d ever put stakes in. Kyle was straight so no reason to catch feelings—until two months ago at the tail end of winter break. </p>
<p>They hung out the day before school resumed, dicking around on the farm. Spent the frigid afternoon rigging up the hay baler to see if they could get it to make massive snow blocks for an igloo. All that ended up accomplishing was pissing Randy off and inspiring a drunk twenty minute rant about how snow leads to rust. Stan drove Kyle home slowly, loathing the return.</p>
<p>“At least with school starting I won’t have to deal with his bullshit,” Stan remembers saying.</p>
<p>Kyle had other things on his mind, and stayed quiet. They pulled up at his house and he hesitated to get out. “Hey, Stan… There’s something I want to tell the guys when we go back to school, but I want you to be the first to know.” </p>
<p>So Stan looked over. Kyle paused. He thought it over again, swallowed the fear, and said it.</p>
<p>“I’m <em> gay</em>, dude.”</p>
<p>What a sucker punch. </p>
<p>When Stan didn't reply Kyle added, “I just don’t want this to make shit weird,” gaze downturned.</p>
<p>He was so stunned he just said “Yeah. No worries dude.”</p>
<p>Stan replayed the moment over a thousand times driving back to the farm, and laid awake in bed thinking of the implications. Kyle. Gay. Technically this meant they belonged in the same dating pool. And when school came around so did the confused feelings and hypotheticals. Watching him in Spanish and daydreaming about how soft he must feel under all those clothes. Wondering whether he moans or screams in bed. Or what his orgasm face looks like.</p>
<p>And now, a month past the drama and drunk tonsil hockey in front of their entire grade they’re still going strong. Going out, staying in, fucking nightly and twice on weekends. And Stan knows all his dirty secrets.</p>
<p>“God, it’s hopeless,” Kenny laments, rubbing his hands over his face.</p>
<p>Stan snaps out of the fond memories. “What?” Oh Christ he’s getting a chub. Good thing Kyle’s sweatshirt is big enough to hide it. “The fuck are <em> you </em>on about?”</p>
<p>Kenny’s hands flop to his sides. “Henrietta, dude! My dark queen. We haven’t boinked since Valentine’s Day.” He shuts his eyes and whines. “I asked her on a legit date and everything—she won’t even talk to me now!”</p>
<p>“What a tragedy…” </p>
<p>“I mean—I’m hot shit, right?” Kenny asks. “How is it <em>I’m</em> the only one in our group who doesn’t got a chunky monkey to hold at night? Butters and lardass have been diddling each other since middle school, and you ‘n’ Kyle are like married now.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Stan stares up at the sky, so impossibly blue. Holds his hands behind his head and sinks back into his thoughts. All the time spent together, sneaking around and driving out on weekend day trips. Getting drive-thru at midnight and porking in the truck bed. </p>
<p>A few weeks back they drank a whole bottle of Fireball together and danced like witches at the frozen pond. Kyle tested the ice, Stan slid out to stop him, and they skidded about until the biting cold sent them back to shore. They made out under a blanket in the backseat with the truck’s heater on full blast, and fucked until the friction made them sweat. </p>
<p>“I think I’m in love.”</p>
<p>Kenny looks over. Sees Stan’s earnest expression. He looks up too. “Holy shit, dude.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>They lay there together a minute. Kenny says “Hey—for your wedding—you think I could get Henrie to come as my plus one?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley!” Sharon bangs on his bedroom door. This morning routine is getting old fast. “You’re going to be late for school!”</p>
<p>She tries the doorknob, expecting it to be locked again, but it opens without protest. Stan’s room is dark and messy. Shades still drawn, clothes scattered across the floor. There’s takeout boxes and chip bags scattered on the hardwood, open soda cans crushed and empty.</p>
<p>Stan groans from his bed and Sharon stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips, taking it in, and frowns at the musky miasma that wafts out into the hall. This place smells like a gym locker under an oppressive layer of Old Spice, and the inside of a rubber balloon. </p>
<p>Sharon steps over the mess to pull up the shades, letting early morning sunlight pierce the room. “You need to go to bed earlier, young man!” She hardly remembers him coming home last night, only waking up at two AM to the sound of boot stomps up the stairs and his door shutting across the hall. “This is the one time I get you up!” </p>
<p>The bed covers rustle, pulled up higher to obscure the rest of his hair and shut everything out.</p>
<p>Sharon grabs his hamper and starts scooping up crumpled clothes. Ripe-smelling shirts, boxers crispy with stains, two pairs of pants, et cetera, et cetera. She collects the food containers and straightens up with a frown, scrutinizing the still motionless bed and the massive lump under the comforter from that enormous killer whale. Eighteen years old and sleeping with a doll like it’s his baby.</p>
<p>She stomps over. “Stanley Marsh, I said it’s time to get up!” Sharon takes the corner of the comforter and throws it back, revealing the two naked bodies underneath. Stan’s covered only by Kyle’s corpulence, the two of them cuddling with the orca under Kyle’s arm—still asleep, but quickly waking up.</p>
<p>“<em>Eugh</em>,” Kyle groans, covering his eyes. </p>
<p>Stan winces, blinking through a squint. “Dude—” </p>
<p>Sharon drops the boxes and throws her hands over her eyes. “Oh my god!”</p>
<p>Stan snaps awake. “Fuck—What—” </p>
<p>“Jesus Christ!” Kyle yells, covering himself with Rivers Smith.</p>
<p>“Sorry! Sorry!” Sharon turns away.</p>
<p>“MOM!” Stan snatches the blankets and hides them both.</p>
<p>“Sorry—” She says again. “I’m going to—I’ll be in the kitchen—” She hurries from the room with a hand shielding the bed from view.</p>
<p>“Oh my fucking god.” Kyle’s mortified voice is muffled by Rivers’ plush head. His whole body is flushed red hot with embarrassment. </p>
<p>“Did you hear her come in?” Stan asks. “I think I was asleep. <em> Shit! </em> That did <em> not </em> just happen.”</p>
<p>Kyle pulls the orca back and his eyes are huge. “We can never go downstairs. We’re going to die up here in your bed.”</p>
<p>Eventually they have to get up, and scurry out the door. Stan only stops to grab his lunch off the counter. </p>
<p>From his armchair Randy smokes a joint, using the cup holder in the armrest as an ashtray. “Mornin’ bud! Hey Kyle! You kids get in late last night?”</p>
<p>They don’t answer, and in the kitchen Sharon goes on washing dishes like nothing’s afoot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the school cafeteria Cartman is in an especially good mood. “Almost that time again, gentlemen!” He proclaims, rubbing his hands together. “My favorite holiday of the year!”</p>
<p>“So you can resume your diet of chocolate bunnies and peeps?” asks Craig up the bench.</p>
<p>“Good guess, candyass,” he says, “but Easter’s still weeks away!”</p>
<p>Tweek sniggers and picks salami out of Craig’s sandwich to chew on. “Sweetest ass I ever tasted.” </p>
<p>Cartman continues. “You guys—next Saturday is <em> Passover! </em> Isn’t it magical?”</p>
<p>Clyde’s making a mess drowning his tots in a lake of ketchup. “Isn’t that a Jewish holiday?” </p>
<p>Cartman’s smiling with total sincerity, like he’s actually stoked. “And it lasts eight whole days you guys! Don’t you see? That fat Jew rat is gonna be gone for an entire week!”</p>
<p>“Aw, no Kyle?” Butters asks, pressed up against him.</p>
<p>Kenny’s on Cartman’s other side, and jabs him playfully. “Can we trade you in instead?”</p>
<p>Stan and Kyle sulk up to the table then, and plop onto the bench with their eyes downcast. Say a quiet “Hey” to the guys before picking at their lunches. No hand holding, no obnoxious flirting. Kyle carves up his meatloaf and Stan pulls ziplocks out of his lunch bag.</p>
<p>“You guys look like shit,” says Craig. Kyle flips him the bird, so he sticks out his tongue and flips one back.</p>
<p>“Yeah dudes, where’s all the joy and PDA?” asks Kenny.</p>
<p>At the end of the table Jimmy says “Honeymoon phase is over, fellas.”</p>
<p>Stan grimaces, holding back a groan. God he’s reliving the whole thing just thinking about it. “My mom caught us in bed this morning.”</p>
<p>Kenny jolts. “WHOA!”</p>
<p>“You guys have morning sex?” Clyde asks with interest.</p>
<p>“No!” Yes. “Well—not at the time. We were just—you know! Same bed, asleep, no clothes.”</p>
<p>Kyle grumbles into his meatloaf, “At least it wasn’t your dad.”</p>
<p>“Thank god for that silver lining...”</p>
<p>Cartman cackles at them. “Did she puke after an eyeful of your fat lard?”</p>
<p>Kyle sneers. “You’d <em> like </em> to catch me naked, fuckface.”</p>
<p>The two degenerates look mildly impressed. “You’re officially a real couple now,” Craig drones. Tweek applauds them.</p>
<p>Stan turns to them. “Christ, you guys have been walked in on too?”</p>
<p>Tweek lays his chin in his hand, looking strangely proud. “Weekly, man.” He pantomimes walking legs with his fingers. “We’ll do it out on the front lawn and people pass by. The trick is keeping them from realizing.” Then his hand finds Craig’s thigh under the table.</p>
<p>“<em>Psh</em>,” Cartman rolls his eyes. “Fake.”</p>
<p>Clyde’s sold. “You mean like the time Craig blew you under a blanket at my birthday?”  </p>
<p>Kyle makes a disturbed gape. “Christ. What are you, some kind of exhibitionist?”</p>
<p>Tweek grins at his boyfriend, hand rubbing higher up his leg. “I’ve fucked Craig in front of his own father.”</p>
<p>“Oh sweet Jesus! I think I’d die!” Butters says. “If my dad knew I was gay he’d take me out behind the shed!”</p>
<p>“How have you two n-never gotten caught?” Jimmy asks.</p>
<p>Tweek swipes more slices of lunch meat to shove in his maw as Craig says “Yeah, I’d expect Cartman to squeal like a pig.”</p>
<p>Kyle grimaces. Just what he needs. More details of their sex life. “Don’t instigate him.”</p>
<p>“One time Bebe’s mom walked in on us and we were in her bed!” says Clyde, like it’s something to brag about. “We had to stop right when I was gonna splooge, her mom was totally pissed.” He grins, remembering her shocked outrage, and the horror on her face when he blew his load all over the sheets. What a MILF. “So worth it.”</p>
<p>Cartman sneers, “Uh, dumbass! You don’t stop when someone walks in!”</p>
<p>It snaps Clyde out of his daydream. “Wait, you don’t? What do you do?”</p>
<p>“What do you <em> do?</em>” Cartman scoffs, stuffing way too many french fries in his mouth. “You keep screwing, that’s what you do! If you stop then you’re the freaks who got caught. Keep going and <em> they’re </em>the freaks who watched.”</p>
<p>“Christ, I feel bad for your mom,” Kyle says with a snicker.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Kenny glances about the table, “are you <em> all </em> getting laid?!”</p>
<p>“H-hell yeah!” says Jimmy. “You guys seen me on that Wendy rebound? Fellas, I’m drowning in p-pussy!”</p>
<p>Craig shifts on the bench as Tweek palms him through his jeans. He grunts. “Getting to second base is <em> not </em> drowning in pussy.”</p>
<p>“It’s halfway there!”</p>
<p>“Damn, I’ll even take getting caught by Butters’ dad if it means I get action,” Kenny laments. “You guys are making me jealous!” </p>
<p>“That g-goth chick still not putting out?” asks Jimmy.</p>
<p>“Can’t imagine why,” Craig huffs.</p>
<p>Tweek sniggers. “Yeah, didn’t you indirectly call her fat on Valentine’s Day?” </p>
<p>Kenny throws out his hands. “She’s fat as fuck! When she wears that tight corset and it all pours out the top—” He moans. “Looks like she’s got tits on both sides!”</p>
<p>Cartman grunts with disgust.</p>
<p>Kyle rubs his hand over his brow and glances at Stan. This really isn’t helping. He lowers his voice to say “Man, we’re just gonna have to be extra sneaky. Lay low for a while.”</p>
<p>Stan whips back to him. “What, you mean <em> abstain?</em>” The concept seems ludicrous. </p>
<p>Kyle prods at his loaf, looking bummed too. “At least at my house during the holiday, there’s gonna be like seven people under one roof.”</p>
<p>“Fuck dude,” Stan says a little too loud. “No sex for <em> eight </em>days?”</p>
<p>It draws attention back to them, and Butters gasps sardonically. “No porking?!”</p>
<p>Kenny smirks across Cartman at him. “Gotta keep it kosher.” </p>
<p>Butters laughs hard. No one notices Craig shut his eyes and melt in his seat while Tweek multitasks. Making quips with Clyde while his hidden hand works quick under the table.</p>
<p>Stan ignores them all and reaches into his lunch bag again, but his hand finds something else. He pulls out a folded note. </p>
<p>Stan opens it, and Kyle glances over and reads it too.</p>
<p>‘You can tell Dad when you’re ready, just please get up on time. Love Mom’</p>

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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. No One Knows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You may have noticed this fic is now 10 chapters instead of 9. The fact that this series just keeps getting longer never ceases to amuse me. Everything's written except for two scenes in chapters 8 and 9, so it <em>shouldn't</em> go over 10 total 🤞</p>
<p>Also a PSA: Breath play is dangerous. If you do it, do it safe 💕</p>
<p>Happy Rosh Hashanah!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Kyle? Bubbe, you in here?” Sheila asks, knocking on his door after school. He should be off work by now, but when she opens the door his room is empty. It’s no longer a surprise, always coming home right at curfew, if he comes home at all. She hasn’t seen him around in a few days now that she thinks about it. </p>
<p>It was a bit worrisome at first, but what can a mother do? </p>
<p>“He’s not a child anymore, Sheila,” Gerald said on Valentine’s Day when he failed to make curfew. “Let him have some freedom.” </p>
<p>It’s been an adjustment, accepting that he’s grown up. Hell, even Ike is sprouting like a weed, and has a spooky little girlfriend. Some nights both boys dash out while she and Gerald watch TV, and it feels like empty nest syndrome has come already. </p>
<p>Though, it has meant more private time in the master bedroom. </p>
<p>“I’m coming in to clean, that alright?” Sheila calls just in case, and with no response she lets herself inside. The place is a mess, contrary to Kyle’s usual tidiness. Open chip bags and takeout boxes lay scattered around the floor, several days old by the smell of things. She stoops over to snatch them up and throw them in her garbage bag, thinking of the lecture she’s going to give him when he finally comes home again. </p>
<p>His bed is a mess too, blankets thrown back to reveal sheets ripe for a wash. She strips the mattress and curls her nose. Teenage boys. Crumbs fall to the floor as she shakes out the sheets, and she curses. Chametz! Laundry will have to wait.</p>
<p>Sheila leaves the sheets wadded up on the bed and plugs the vacuum into the outlet under his desk, but when she straightens up her eyes catch all the mementos decorating his shelf. Old basketball trophies they handed out to the kids in elementary school. His plaque for winning the district debate tournament last year. Ticket stubs to movies and concerts, taped up across the lip of the shelf. </p>
<p>A picture frame stands in the corner, covered up by a glossy photograph that looks like it was shot from a disposable camera. The image is dark, with the overexposed faces of Stan and Kyle making devil horns and grinning with their tongues out. Behind them a mass of strangers throw their arms up and cheer down at a stage. Sheila plucks it up by the corner to have a closer look, and flips the picture over. The back just says “Weezer” with a date from last July.</p>
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</div><p>Sheila glances back at the picture frame, and her heart melts. “Oh…”</p>
<p>She sets the concert photo down to pick it up, and caresses her thumb over the frame. Behind the glass is an image of Kyle and Ike at Jew Scouts, no older than eight and four. Kyle holds Ike’s little hand and smiles for the camera in his uniform. Sheila looks at it with warm nostalgia and a bit of awe—she almost forgot how skinny Kyle used to be.</p>
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</div><p>She replaces the pictures on the shelf and gets to vacuuming, crumbs rattling up into the machine. She pauses when she hits the closet doors and squints at them, betting Kyle has some snacks hidden away inside. She opens it up and pulls out his hamper. Might as well take this down with the sheets to the washer. </p>
<p>She roots around the closet for cracker boxes and her hand touches fabric. One of Kyle’s jackets, probably fallen off its hook, and stuffed so far back she would have never seen it otherwise. She pulls it out to add to the hamper but takes a second look at the red and white design. This isn’t something she recognizes. Sheila holds it up at arms length, turns it around, and realizes why.</p>
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</div><p>Sharon’s down in the kitchen working on dinner when she gets the call, and pinches her phone between her ear and shoulder to keep cutting onions. “Hi Sheila, Kyle’s over here at the farm if you’re looking for him.”</p>
<p>Sheila looks over the jacket again. “Evening, Sharon—Actually, I was going to ask if Stanley’s missing a varsity jacket.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, the team ordered new ones a few weeks ago, I don’t think they’ve come in yet.” She hasn’t seen one around at least.</p>
<p>Sheila purses her lips, looking at the ‘MARSH 05’ across the back. “Well, I just found one over here mixed up with Kyle’s clothes, I’ll have him bring it over the next time I catch him at home.”</p>
<p>Sharon pauses her chopping. She wipes her hands and retakes the phone to hold the speaker closer to her ear. “Kyle had it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I’m afraid it’s all stretched out,” Sheila says, holding up the huge sleeve. “I can pay for a dry cleaning, see if that won’t make it shrink back down.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, that’s alright—” Sharon pauses as she realizes what she’s about to say, and the wires in her brain touch. “Stan asked me to order the extra extra large one.”</p>
<p>“Well alright, it’s really no trouble. I’ll send it back over as soon as it’s clean.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Sheila.”</p>
<p>They chat a minute longer and Sharon hangs up the call. For a moment she stands in the kitchen blinking at the implication. So <em> old school</em>, she thinks incredulously. So <em> romantic</em>. </p>
<p>This is more serious than she thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upstairs Stan and Kyle hangout in Stan’s room with the door open, doing homework like old times. They lay on the bed, pressed up together so they both fit, and do calculus problems out of Kyle’s math book. </p>
<p>The sun sinks low in the sky and Sharon knocks on the doorframe, plate in hand. She spots them snuggled up together, Stan’s head on Kyle’s shoulder as they listen to Stan’s Bluetooth speaker. He taps his pencil on the book to the beat of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_59a_hnYdU">the song</a> and Kyle nods his head. They’re so lost in the music they don’t even notice her standing there. </p>
<p>“<em>We get some rules to follow, that and this, these and those—No one knows.</em>”</p>
<p>Sharon looks down to hide her little smile. “Carrots and hummus,” she announces. </p>
<p>Stan’s head snaps up, and he jumps off the bed to grab it. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>“Don’t stay up too late,” she reminds, and shuts his door as she leaves.</p>
<p>They resettle on the bedspread, and Kyle flips the book shut to give them a break and a place to set the food. </p>
<p>“<em>Oh, what you do to me—No one knows.</em>”</p>
<p>“Your mom’s so nice,” says Kyle as they snack. “How’d she end up with an asshat like your dad?”</p>
<p>“You’re asking me, dude,” Stan says, and drops a glob of hummus on his shirt. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>Kyle wipes it off with his hand and chuckles. “You klutz.” Stan watches him lick it off his finger and Kyle smirks. “You look hungry.”</p>
<p>Stan says “I’m starving.”</p>
<p>Kyle pinches the collar of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss. Stan slips him his tongue, pushing Kyle down as they embrace on the comforter. His hands squeeze his soft sides and Kyle runs fingers through dark hair.</p>
<p>Stan pulls back panting and groans, cock stiff in his shorts. “God, I need you. I’m dying to fucking touch you.”</p>
<p>Kyle quirks a brow. “Sounds dangerous, dude.” But he’s smirking. He pushes back on Stan’s chest so he sits up against his stomach. Kyle caresses his abs through the shirt, then down his thighs. Hands rubbing around his groin, and the growing bulge in his training shorts. </p>
<p>Stan bites his lip and rocks forward into his palms. </p>
<p>“Your parents are downstairs,” Kyle reminds.</p>
<p>Stan makes a cavalier grin. “Only dangerous if we get caught.”</p>
<p>“<em>And I realize you're mine. Indeed a fool am I. And I realize you're mine. Indeed a fool am I.</em>”</p>
<p>They resume making out, and Kyle slips his hand under Stan’s waistband, feeling precum slick his palm. Stan groans as Kyle strokes him slowly, gaze flickering up as he works. “What if your mom comes back up for the plate?”</p>
<p>Stan pants hard and rolls his hips for added friction. “I know where we can go.”</p>
<p>They creep downstairs and sneak past the living room where Randy sits, laughing at the TV and sipping beer between hits on his joint. Sharon’s busy at the stove, so they escape out the front unmolested. </p>
<p>Stan gets the door shut and Kyle pins him against it, hands rubbing the bulge in his shorts and asks “You wanna fuck me right here on the porch?” </p>
<p>Stan laughs and pinches his ass. “Close.”</p>
<p>They dash across the dirt drive to the barn, late sun casting gold over the fields of hemp. Stan rolls the heavy door open and the moment they’re inside they’re on each other, tonguing and tearing their outer layers off. Stan backs Kyle against the ladder up to the loft and fumbles with his pants front, then squeezes them down so his ass spills out.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Stan groans between kisses, kneading the bare flesh. They might still be visible if his dad steps onto the porch to call them to supper. “Not here.” He nods his head, gesturing up.</p>
<p>Kyle caresses Stan through his shorts. “Lead the way, hotshot.”</p>
<p>“You first."</p>
<p>Kyle simpers lecherously. “You’re such a fucking perv.” He twists around to the ladder and bends forward to slide off his pants, showing him red straps. Thong eaten up by his massive ass. Kyle kicks off his boots to get his jeans off and steps onto the bottom rung barefoot.</p>
<p>Stan bites his lip, watching him climb up. How his ass juts from side to side and creases where it meets his thighs. Kyle stops toward the top and locks an arm around a rung, smirking down at him. He wags his ass in the air and tugs down the thong, framing his cheeks before slipping it down his leg. He dangles it from an ankle as if to say ‘come get me’ and Stan chases him the rest of the way up.</p>
<p>Big bales of hemp stand in stacks across the loft. They push some together into a makeshift bed, and Stan grabs a pitchfork off the wall to scatter them. Kyle throws his shirt over and lays regally across the nest of hemp. He inhales the skunky odor. This is some loud bud.</p>
<p>“Won’t your dad be pissed?” He asks with a smirk as Stan comes back over.</p>
<p>He pulls off his shirt and lays it down too. “And I’m supposed to give a shit?”</p>
<p>Kyle grabs him and drags him down on top of him. Kisses him hard as he yanks off Stan’s shorts, springing him free. </p>
<p>They frot together in Stan’s big hand, and Kyle makes a mound of hemp to support his back as Stan goes down on him. </p>
<p>“Bring that ass around, dude,” Kyle commands with heavy breath. So Stan maneuvers around and climbs onto him, legs against his shoulders and mouth going all the while. Kyle grips his thighs and laps along the underside of his cock. He works up the shaft, tasting precum as his tongue flicks over the tip, and services his cockhead.</p>
<p>Stan groans, rolling his hips down into Kyle’s mouth, and has to stop on his end. “Fuck, dude, I’m trying to get you off over here!”</p>
<p>Kyle takes it as a challenge, grasping Stan’s ass to force him in deeper, and opens his throat.</p>
<p>Stan drops his head, moaning out against Kyle’s groin as he jerks him against his cheek. The best he can manage. He’s too lost rocking his hips, fucking deeper into his hot throat. Kyle keeps up, swallowing every inch and squeezing his balls. Stan grips a handful of thigh and buries his face as he edges. Kyle gets one finger in to pet his prostate and he’s fucking done for. </p>
<p>“<em>Fuuuuck!</em>" Stan cries, legs shaking as he comes. </p>
<p>Kyle slides Stan’s cock out of his throat, long trail of spit and cum slicking his tongue and down his chin. He smears it with his thumb and smirks. “Another round of chicken sixty-nine goes to team Broflovski.”</p>
<p>Stan groans again as his orgasm fades. “God, <em> Kyle</em>—Sit on my face.”</p>
<p>That gets his attention. Kyle rolls them over and crushes him down into the hemp, smothering him with ass. Stan clutches to his thigh and wraps around to stroke his cock as he licks along his underside. He kisses his balls, laps up behind them over his taint. Gets his face in deep to the point he’s smothered. He licks gently first, teasing his entrance, then circling his hole with increased pressure.</p>
<p>Kyle has to duck his head and shut his eyes. “Jesus, Stan,” He doubles over, cock weeping. He reaches under his belly to cover Stan’s hand in his and help stroke himself off. </p>
<p>The other palm claps his ass hard, making Kyle shudder and cry out. Stan spreads him open and goes full gas on the tongue lashing, wanting to make them even.</p>
<p>Kyle rubs back against him with a high whine. “Fuck, your tongue is <em> so good</em>—” A ringtone stops him from begging for a fuck. Stan’s phone is going off in his shorts pocket, and Kyle groans. “That’s dinner.”</p>
<p>Stan clamps down on his thighs to lock him in place and goes on rimming him, and Kyle’s too weak to protest. The second call is covered by his cry as he comes over their stomachs. </p>
<p>They pick stalks and fibers out of each others’ hair as they hoof it back to the house for supper, and share a sustained kiss on the porch to last them through the meal.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>On Friday after practice Kenny has the gang meet up for pizza at Shakey’s. Stan pulls up in his truck with Kyle in the front and Kenny slaps the passenger door as he passes between parking spaces. “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E07WfbqAJwY"><em>Whoop whoop! Pull over, that ass is too fat!</em></a>”</p>
<p>Butters giggles as he follows behind, and Cartman picks up the caboose. Kyle grins testily and undoes his belt to get out.</p>
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</div><p>They get their booth, arrange themselves with couples on the bench, while Kenny pulls an extra chair up to the end. Stan and Kyle sit squished up together holding hands under the table and playing footsie, and it’s a wonder the other two are even dating. Cartman completely ignores his boyfriend and Butters spends more time engaged with Kenny as they share a large Hawaiian. </p>
<p>Kyle, Stan, and Cartman split a meat lover’s, and competing with two big appetites means Stan’s struggling to get his fair share.</p>
<p>“Jesus, how do you guys eat so fast?” He asks.</p>
<p>“I have to get my pizza fix in before tomorrow, dude,” says Kyle, taking the last slice. “Dough has yeast. That’s chametz.”</p>
<p>“Hey, can we get a second order over here?” Stan asks the waitress as she passes.</p>
<p>Kyle takes a bite and talks with his mouth full. “You’ll see at Seder, man. It’s fine the first night, but after eight days stuck at home eating matzah?” Not to mention missing him. Passover begins tomorrow, meaning his holiday hiding at Stan’s place is at its end. “No bread. No pastries. No pizza. Imagine eating a giant, unsalted cracker at every meal. That’s Pesach.”</p>
<p>“See, this is why Jews are destined to go extinct,” Cartman says to Kenny and Butters, flopping a piece of pizza in Kyle’s direction. “They have all these stupid traditions dictating what they can and can’t eat, no shellfish, no ham—I mean, Kyle can’t eat pork ‘cause it would be cannibalism—”</p>
<p>Kyle scoffs. “I’m eating pepperoni right now.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, a little too much,” Cartman quips. Stan frowns. “Aren’t firstborns supposed to fast the day before Passover?” Butters snickers.</p>
<p>“Talk to me when you’re sub four hundred, fatboy.” Kyle takes another bite.</p>
<p>Their waitress returns, taking away the empty tray and setting down a second pie before them. Stan goes right in, determined to get more than two slices this time. </p>
<p>Kenny clasps his hands, rubbing them together. “Alright dudes, you’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.”</p>
<p>“So you can get your fix and foot us with the bill?” Cartman asks.</p>
<p>“No.” He points from Cartman out across the others. “I’m officially appointing you all as my wingmen.”</p>
<p>“Oh god,” Stan laments.</p>
<p>“My birthday’s in two days and the party’s next weekend.” Oh shit that’s right. Stan and Kyle still have to wrap up his present. Kenny prods the tabletop, saying “She <em> has </em> to come. Which means this weekend you four gotta help me make my move.”</p>
<p>“Well tomorrow’s not gonna work for us,” says Kyle. “I got my whole freaking family coming over for Seder.”</p>
<p>“Alright, Sunday. Cartman?”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna make me spend your birthday bitch fishing?”</p>
<p>“I need the whole fucking team!” says Kenny. “If I could do this alone you think I’d still be single?”</p>
<p>“Give it up, Ken,” Cartman says with his mouth full. “She’s not biting ‘cause she’s not interested.”</p>
<p>“Well that just doesn’t make any sense!” says Butters. “Any girl would be glad to date you!”</p>
<p>“Right?!” Kenny turns to him. “I mean—I’m charming! I got a pretty face!”</p>
<p>Butters smiles. “You’ve got the strongest jawline I know! And the best cheekbones,” he scoots over to admire them, “pretty blue eyes, perfect arched brows.” Butters face hovers just over his, and he taps the tip of Kenny’s nose. “And the cutest lil nose tying it all together!”</p>
<p>“Aww, I do?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Butters pokes him right in the chest. “And if that goth gal doesn’t see it, well mister, I say kick that bitch to the curb!”</p>
<p>Kyle scoffs. “Jesus, if you’re gonna flirt with Kenny so much why don’t you just date him.”</p>
<p>Kenny looks amused by the concept. “You’re telling me, man. I’m about ready to give up on girls.”</p>
<p>Butters giggles and leans back against Cartman, constricting his arm. “Sorry Ken! You’re a swell guy, but you don’t exactly have the physique I love.”</p>
<p>“And you know I only fuck things with boobs.” He smirks across at Butters’ boyfriend. “Now if <em> Cartman </em>were down…”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “You’re lucky I like you, welfare queen.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They finish eating and then it’s the tightest squeeze into Stan’s truck. Kenny climbs in first, pushing Rivers Smith out of the way, and Butters squishes into him to make room.</p>
<p>Kenny sniffs the air. “We gotta get you guys an air freshener. Smells like buttsex in here.”</p>
<p>Cartman grunts with frustration as he tries to scramble in, and grabs the orca to throw it in the front. “Stan, get your stupid doll out of here! Christ your truck sucks.” </p>
<p>“Hey! Be careful with him!” Kyle snaps the back of his seat upright again and hops in. “That’s our kid!”</p>
<p>“Whoa, your kid?!” Kenny grins incredulously. “This is getting domestic!”</p>
<p>Stan picks up Rivers and passes him back into the backseat. “Butters, can you hold him?”</p>
<p>Butters gasps and hugs him tight. “First comes love, then comes marriage?”</p>
<p>Cartman groans, not bothering with his seat belt. “You guys are uber fags.”</p>
<p>“Aww, I think he’s cute!” Kenny tickles the orca’s snout. “Just like his mommy!”</p>
<p>Butters giggles. “Kyle, why didn’t you just tell us you were <em> pregnant?</em>”</p>
<p>Cartman guffaws. “Kyle’s so fat, he wouldn’t even realize it. Star on his own episode of ‘I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant’.” </p>
<p>Kenny cackles hideously.</p>
<p>Kyle does his belt and kicks his feet up on the dash. “Why are you all assuming <em> I’d </em>carry the kid?”</p>
<p>Kenny stops to grin mischievously. “‘Cause, dude, you’re the one with the hot mom bod’! <em> Hips for days.</em>”</p>
<p>“Kenny, I’m gonna climb back there and kick your ass,” Stan warns.</p>
<p>He starts up the truck and Cartman has a change of heart as they pull out of the parking lot. He considers the doll. “You know—he <em> does </em> kind of look like Kyle. I should have guessed your kid would come out as a whale.”</p>
<p>Kyle huffs and rolls his eyes. “Orcas are dolphins.”</p>
<p>“Hey Stan,” Cartman continues, “when are you gonna come out to your parents about your degeneracy?”</p>
<p>Stan feels his face go hot, remembering earlier that week. He grips the wheel tighter. “My mom already knows I’m bi.”</p>
<p>“No, I mean as a zoophile,” he elaborates. “Considering you’re fucking a land whale.”</p>
<p>Stan stomps on the breaks and Cartman flies into the back of Kyle’s seat, smashing his face and jostling the truck. </p>
<p>“Ahg! Fuck!” Cartman holds his nose. “Watch it!”</p>
<p>“Whoops, thought I saw a squirrel,” says Stan, and the others cackle as they drive on.</p>
<p>He drops the trio off at Kenny’s house, then stops at Kyle’s—even if it’s out of order. Stan pulls up along the curb and Kyle leans over the center console to give him a kiss. </p>
<p>“Thanks for the backup, <em> zoophile</em>,” he teases, tasting like pizza.</p>
<p>Stan grins. “Anytime.” Kyle slides back to slip out but Stan puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Um.” He works his mouth together. “Do you want to come out to our parents?” Stan asks finally.</p>
<p>Kyle quirks a brow. “Not much to come out about with yours.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Stan agrees, scratching along his jaw. “What about yours?”</p>
<p>Kyle glances back at his house, not loving the idea. “It would make sneaking out really tough. You know my mom, she’d definitely stop letting us sleep together, and—to be honest? I’m still not super stoked on porking at your place right now.”</p>
<p>“Right,” says Stan. “Alright.”</p>
<p>Kyle smiles and gives him another quick peck. “See you tomorrow for Seder?”</p>
<p>He slips out of the truck and Stan grins back. “Definitely.” </p>
<p>Kyle shuts the door and off he goes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the farm Randy sings <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sn2hAFdre30">Afroman</a> as he rolls open the doors to the barn. Spring break is around the corner and he needs to pull some bales from the loft to keep up with sales. </p>
<p>“<em>Livin’ the life that I always wanted to live, playa, and that’s positive… All my enemies from the past pucker up they lips, and kiss my ass!</em>” </p>
<p>He stops to do another hit on his doob. Just inside are a few round bales, he rolls them aside to get to the tractor.</p>
<p>“<em>Yes, indeeeeeeeeed, I drink beeeeer… and I smoke weed!</em>”</p>
<p>Something slides off the side of the bale and plops on the ground. Randy stops mumbling lyrics to himself and looks over. Spots red.</p>
<p>“Mm?” He scoops it up and smirks. “Oh <em> Sharon</em>.” A slutty little gift? He hooks the straps in his fingers and holds it up to admire, but his arms keep widening just to hold it taut. His grin is scandalized and then he’s howling, laughing so hard his sides hurt.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Sharon’s in the kitchen reading the news on her phone and eating yogurt when the door bursts open.</p>
<p>“Sharon!” Randy shouts. She can hear his boot stomps as he runs to the living room looking for her. “Hey Sharon! Look what I found!”</p>
<p>She groans and stands, going to see what the hell it is this time, and finds him looking positively manic. “What?” She drones.</p>
<p>He holds up the thong with his arms as wide as possible, further exaggerating the size. “Check it out! We got a frisky fat chick trespassing in the barn!”</p>
<p>Her eyes snap open with alarm. “Randy put that down this instant!”</p>
<p>“Oh come on, Sharon, look at this!” He holds it against his arm to compare the length. “You’d have to be three hundred pounds for these to fit!”</p>
<p>Her blood goes cold, realizing he’s probably right. “Do you have any idea what you’re holding?!”</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes. “Please, Sharon, I know what a G-string is!” He flings it around in his fist and laughs hideously. “This has gotta be a prank! Did Stan do this?” He leans up the stairs. “STAN!”</p>
<p>“RANDY!” She lunges for it but he whips his arm up and away.</p>
<p>“Nuh-uh! Finders keepers!”</p>
<p>“Randy Marsh, you hand that over right now!”</p>
<p>Sharon hears the front door open again and Randy escapes while she’s distracted. He re-examines them. “Who the fuck would even wear this—” </p>
<p>“Mom,” Stan’s voice calls from the entryway. “I’m staying over at Kyle’s place tomorrow night—” He shuffles in, kicking off his shoes.</p>
<p>“Stan!” Randy shouts, making him look up. “Check out the jumbo butt floss!” And he stretches the straps to display it in all its glory.</p>
<p>Stan is paralyzed in horror. Sharon facepalms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kyle’s in the guest room dressing the bed when the bell rings. He welcomes the excuse to pause the chore list his mom left him and runs to get it, but blinks with surprise when he finds Stan standing there with Rivers Smith in his arms.</p>
<p>“Hey dude, forget something?” Kyle asks. </p>
<p>Stan swallows. “Is it alright if I stay over tonight too?”</p>
<p>“Sure dude.” He steps aside to let him in. “Make yourself at home.”</p>
<p>“Is anyone else here?” Stan asks curtly, looking around.</p>
<p>“My parents are at Ike’s hockey game. Probably won’t be back for another hour.” He comes up behind Stan and rubs a hand up his back. “Everything alright?”</p>
<p>Stan swoops him up in a surprise kiss, and Kyle melts into him, wrapping around Stan’s neck. “I need you inside me <em> right now</em>,” Stan rasps, so Kyle shuts the door with his foot and they climb the stairs to his room.</p>
<p>They skip the foreplay. Stan’s got him by the cock and sucking him to mast, then lubing himself hastily. Kyle fucks him into his sheets with force, as Stan chants <em> harder. Harder. Harder! </em></p>
<p>“Jesus, dude! I’m going as hard as I can!” Kyle holds down Stan’s wrists, belly pinning the rest of him to the bed. Stan’s still begging for more.</p>
<p>“Fucking crush me,” he pleads. “I don’t want to breathe.”</p>
<p>Kyle raises his brows and really lays into him, using his full weight. Stan cries out, bangs clinging to his forehead as he throws his head back. His neck is so beautifully exposed. Kyle pushes his wrists up against the headboard one handed, lays the other over his throat, and presses. His screams squeak out and become rasps, and then Stan nods vigorously. Yes, this is good. This is what he <em> needs</em>.</p>
<p>Kyle eases up to let him gasp air and puts the pressure on again, repeating with the rhythm of his thrusts. Five thrusts, hold. Ten thrusts, hold. He’s groaning and picking up the pace as he feels it come on, and gets a little overzealous with the last choke. He holds Stan’s throat shut, making him gape in a silent shout as Kyle comes.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck,</em>” Kyle moans, and Stan gasps in sharply as his grip relaxes. He coughs violently a moment, and Kyle reaches down between them to beat him off in apology. “Sorry, got carried away with that last one.”</p>
<p>Stan hacks into his hands, eyes wet, and says “Please—do it again.”</p>
<p>So Kyle presses his hand back to Stan’s throat and strokes him to orgasm, cock still embedded in his ass. They lay there after, and Stan traces his fingers over the side of Kyle’s stomach as he lays under him.</p>
<p>“My dad is such a fucking <em> menace</em>,” he says finally. </p>
<p>Kyle lays his chin on his hands, laced over Stan’s chest, and looks back up at him. “Something happen?”</p>
<p>Stan wraps around him tighter. “I think he knows. He was being a fucking ass about it too.” He pauses. “He found your thong.”</p>
<p>Kyle grimaces. “Yikes.”</p>
<p>Stan gulps. “I want to come out to your parents.”</p>
<p>Kyle blinks back at him, stunned.</p>
<p>Stan looks resolute. “They’re gonna find out. If this is long term.” He squeezes Kyle in, and Kyle wraps around him in affirmation. “I want it to be on our terms.”</p>
<p>Kyle‘s eyebrows are high on his forehead. He sucks in a breath and nods. Logic sound. “Okay. Let’s do it.”</p>
<p>Stan hugs him close, face in his neck. “God—Thank you.”</p>
<p>Kyle squeezes back. “At Passover?”</p>
<p>Stan grins. “Passover.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>art blog &amp; writing updates: <a href="https://dusksmote.tumblr.com/">dusksmote.tumblr.com</a></p>
<p>instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/dusksmote/">instagram.com/dusksmote</a></p>
<p>NSFW twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/dusksmote">twitter.com/dusksmote</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. L'Shana haba'ah b'Yerushalayim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Beware: this fanfic is gonna contain some NSFW art 😏 probably nothing graphic but who knows. If there's dicks I'll warn ya.</p>
<p>Quick note on the Broflovski Seder: this is not a perfect example of a Seder. They skip songs, some prayers, the four questions, and add their own traditions to it. This is partially because they're not Orthodox, they're having friends over, and my own headcanon. While they honor the Passover tradition, it's also a great excuse to see family and get drunk!</p>
<p>Lastly, I've included Sheila's sister, who exists in canon but has never been seen or named, so I've taken some creative liberties. I know the Schwartz's are from Connecticut, but let's say at some point in the last ten years they moved back to Newark ;^)</p>
<p>Happy National Coming Out Day!</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><br/><strong>Haggadah</strong>: a text read during Seder that retells the story of the Exodus and the steps of the ceremony<br/><strong>Gentile</strong>: someone who is not Jewish<br/><strong>Manischewitz</strong>: a kosher food products corporation, famous for its matzo and wine<br/><strong>Maggid</strong>: the fifth step in a Seder, the retelling of the Exodus and the second cup of wine
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday morning comes like a light breeze. A late March sunbeam skates in over the bed from between Kyle’s curtains, casting the room in a faint glow. Pristine like the fresh snow outside. Stan shudders in his sleep and draws the blankets up higher, and Kyle, barely lucid, snuggles into him to give him heat. </p>
<p>Kyle’s eyes peek open and he blinks to clear the blur. There’s his window, and the roof of Stan’s old house beside it, heavy with white powder. Beyond that, trees and mountains, laden with snow. Bright sky of the morning, cloudless and brilliant. Kyle shuts his eyes again and gets another few minutes of sleep. This time when he wakes up he sees dark hair. Stan’s face. So serene, even when he’s drooling on his pillow. </p>
<p>Kyle grins. Remembers Kenny’s words from the day before. <em> This is getting domestic</em>.</p>
<p>He could stand to wake up like this every morning—</p>
<p>“Kyle!” Someone shouts. “Mom says it’s time to get up!” Ike’s on the other side of his door and yelling through it.</p>
<p>Kyle groans and rolls over. “Give me a minute!”</p>
<p>“It’s almost noon, you missed the morning prayer and now they’re about to head over to the airport!”</p>
<p>Reluctantly he slides himself out of Stan’s embrace, wondering how the hell Stan can sleep through all this. Kyle rubs his face as he sits at the edge of his bed. “Yeah, yeah.” He scoops up his sweatpants from the floor and slides them on, not bothering with underwear. “I’m up, I’m up…”</p>
<p>The door starts to open, and Ike barges in. “She’s pissed ‘cause the guest room still isn’t ready—”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Ike,” Kyle barks, barely getting his shirt over his head in time. “Ever heard of knocking?”</p>
<p>Ike catches one look at the bed and grimaces as he turns away. “<em>Eugh! </em>Dude!” He shields his eyes. Stan is clearly naked under those sheets. “Really?!”</p>
<p>“Don’t <em> really </em> me!” Kyle snaps back, tugging down the shirt. “This is <em> my </em> room!”</p>
<p>Stan just rolls over with a groan and hugs the orca doll.</p>
<p>Ike squints back through his peripheral vision and pinches his nose shut. “How Mom doesn’t know about you two I have no fucking idea. It’s <em> blatant.</em>” </p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes and hurls a pair of pants at him. “Please, give me a break.”</p>
<p>Ike swats them away. “If I have to endure another night listening to the orchestra of whale songs I’m gonna tell her!”</p>
<p>That wakes Stan up. He shoots up with a scathing glare.</p>
<p>Ike groans. “You know I didn’t mean it like that—I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Kyle looks unaffected. He folds his arms. “We’re gonna tell her. Tonight.”</p>
<p>Ike blinks back in surprise. “What? Really?”</p>
<p>Another eyeroll. “Yeah. Really.” Kyle gets on some slippers, knowing the kitchen floor will be deathly cold. “I figure if she’s really pissed she might just feel festive enough to pass <em> me </em> over.” He turns Ike around and pushes him back into the hall so he can shut the door. “We’ll be down in a minute.”</p>
<p>Kyle slinks right back into bed the moment he’s gone. Stan’s turning his shirt right side out again, and Kyle hugs him from behind. He can feel his morning wood brush his arm.</p>
<p>“Christ, what a little dickhole,” Stan says. The muscles of his back flex as he moves to pull the shirt on.</p>
<p>Kyle kisses the back of his neck. “Forget it. It’s a holiday.”</p>
<p>Stan slings an arm over him in a good morning hug, lips hovering over his. “Since when are you such a morning person?”</p>
<p>Kyle grins and meets him halfway for a kiss, saying “I got a good feeling about today.” His hand goes lower. “And I don’t think anyone will notice if we take another ten minutes.”</p>
<p>Stan grins. Now he’s feeling like a morning person too.</p>
<p>Ike groans outside Kyle’s door and descends the stairs. Sheila is throwing on her coat while Gerald gets the keys off the hook. “Ike, sweetheart,” she says. “We should be back in a few hours. Tell Kyle he better have his chores done by the time we’re back or they’ll be consequences!”</p>
<p>“I think he got the memo,” he says flatly.</p>
<p>“Alright, lunch is on the stove, everything’s turned off. Bye bubbe!” She calls, heading out the door.</p>
<p>Ike watches from the living room window as his parents get in the car and pull onto the road. When they’re gone from sight he goes to the closet to get his parka too, passing the dining table on the way. It’s already set, leaf added to fit all nine chairs, with Seder plates and Haggadahs set before every one. He hears a low, rhythmic groan of Kyle’s bedframe through the ceiling as he does his laces, and sticks his tongue out with a grimace. Irked, but not surprised.</p>
<p>Ike slams the front door on his way out, then he’s off down the sidewalk. It’s a quick walk to the McCormick house, and the front’s unlocked.</p>
<p>“God, who let in a draft?” Cartman’s on the ratty couch, playing Xbox with his console plugged into the boxy TV. “Does your house have any fucking insulation?”</p>
<p>Kenny’s huddled up with him and Butters under one blanket, and none of them glance up from the game. “Put that blubber to work.”</p>
<p>Butters laughs between them. “I’m nice and toasty!”</p>
<p>Ike walks past into the hall and finds Karen’s bedroom door open. She sits on the floor inside, listening to Type O Negative and doing her makeup in the mirror against the wall. The room’s not much to look at. Dark bedsheets with a well-loved skull cat doll among her pillows. The walls are patchworked with magazine pages drawn over in sharpie and nail polish. Goth on a budget.</p>
<p>“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BREubW6lyHo"><em>They keep me warm on cold nights. We must be quite a sight. In our meat triangle. All tangled—Wow. My girlfriend's girlfriend. She looks like you. My girlfriend's girlfriend. She's my girl too.</em></a>”</p>
<p>Karen smiles at him through her mirror and caps her eyeliner. Smooths over the black dress she modified from an enormous thrift store find. “Almost ready!” </p>
<p>He steps in and plops down next to her. “Actually, you mind if I hang out here for a few hours first?”</p>
<p>She puts the makeup back in her shoebox. “Only if you let me paint your nails.”</p>
<p>From the other room they can still hear Cartman complaining on the couch. “Your house fucking blows. We could be playing on my flat screen with central heating right now.”</p>
<p>“Aww, you mean you don’t like cuddling with me?”</p>
<p>“Fuck off, Kenny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wild bedhead and smelling like sex isn’t how Stan wants to make his first impression, so when they’re done in the bedroom they move to the hall bath. Kyle pats his ass into the shower and they waste water making out under the spray. It hasn’t been ten minutes and Stan’s handsy, kneading his ass like he wants an encore. </p>
<p>Kyle smirks as he breaks the kiss. “I don’t trust my footing like this.”</p>
<p>Stan squeezes his ass again and clambers down to sit in the tub. “How ‘bout a bath?”</p>
<p>So Kyle flips on the water to the faucet and gets down between his legs, finger stroking easily back inside Stan’s hole. “We’ve still got a few hours. How ‘bout a round two?”</p>
<p>They’re both grinning as they kiss again, and Stan wraps around his neck, pulling him in with affirmation. Kyle pins him in the basin, hot steam rising up over the curtain as he fucks him against porcelain. It’s a good thing Ike dipped because Stan doesn’t hold back. He cries out over the gushing faucet, legs over the lip of the tub to hold himself open as Kyle gives it to him. He clutches Kyle’s sides, slick and wet, and pulls him in deeper.</p>
<p>“Fuck—Ruin me!” Stan screams.</p>
<p>He wants to, but thrusts in with powerful control. “Gotta be able to sit at the table tonight.”</p>
<p>Kyle indulges him through orgasm, fucking Stan hard enough to slosh water out the side and across the bathmat. Kyle plugs the drain and shuts off the faucet. Lets Stan lather him with body wash as he strokes him off.</p>
<p>“Fuck, my hair is soaked,” Kyle says, disturbing the water with his jerking hand.</p>
<p>Stan grins, breath ragged. “Worth it?”</p>
<p>Kyle grins back. “You bet your ass.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>They finish washing up, making sure to look good for the extended family, and dry Kyle’s hair. Stan helps him prep the rest of the house, and they barely have time to fluff the pillows on the guest bed when the front door’s unlocked. </p>
<p>“Ike! Kyle! We’re back!” Sheila calls.</p>
<p>Kyle glances at Stan as he smooths the bedcover. “Oh boy. Ready for Broflovski hell?”</p>
<p>He grins. “So ready.”</p>
<p>They descend the stairs and there In the entryway Sheila ushers in the relatives. Stan makes a disoriented blink and stops on the steps. Behind Sheila is an older woman with huge red hair, and a pouty mouth that says lip injections and attitude. She’s heavy like Sheila, but in all the right places; spray tanned knockers nearly busting free of her leopard print top.</p>
<p>“Ooh, just look what you’ve done to the place,” she coos in a thick New England accent, limp wrist gesturing to the modest living room. Her acrylic nails are like harpy’s talons. “It’s so <em> homely!</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Dude,</em>” Stan whispers to Kyle, sounding disturbed.</p>
<p>“<em>I</em><em> know,</em>” he whispers back, as they finally make it into the living room.</p>
<p>She catches sight of Kyle on the stairs and throws open her arms, bingo wings flapping. “There’s my little nephew! Come give your Aunt Sadie a kiss!”</p>
<p>Behind her Gerald wheezes as he carries two hot pink hard shell bags into the house. </p>
<p>Aunt Sadie sweeps Kyle up into a tight embrace, crushing him against her chest. Her gold hoop earrings smack his face as she gives both his cheeks a wet smooch, leaving behind pink lipstick. She pulls back to look him over at arm’s length. “Well, not so little anymore!”</p>
<p>Kyle rubs off the makeup and glances Stan’s way. “Hi Aunt Sadie.”</p>
<p>“Oh jeez, I-I think the driveway could use some salt, I got out of the car and nearly slipped all the way down to the curb.” Cousin Kyle drops his bags by the door and fixes his glasses. He spins around and rubs a hand over his butt. “I think I bruised my coccyx, do I have any ice stuck to my pants?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be such a baby, Kyle!” Says Aunt Sadie. “Come say hi to your cousin!”</p>
<p>Sheila comes over to take her fuzzy coat. “Stanley, you remember Kyle’s cousin Kyle?”</p>
<p>Stan glances at him. He’s still just as pitifully awkward looking as before. Matted, curly hair combed down the center, and glasses so thick they’re like looking through a glass bottle. He’s big too, but not as big as Kyle—and while Kyle Broflovski’s definitely bottom-heavy, all the Schwartz weight is on top. </p>
<p>He breathes through his mouth and gives Stan a smile. “H-Hi I’m Kyle,” he pulls off his glove to shake hands, and when Stan takes it his skin is clammy. “Pardon the dampness, driving in the snow makes me nervous and then I start perspiring.”</p>
<p>“Hey dude.” Stan breaks away quickly and glances at Sheila. “Uh, yeah, I think we’ve met. We played baseball together that one time.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><p>“Oh great!” She says. “Something to bond over.”</p>
<p>Aunt Sadie’s looking at Stan too, most notably his lean biceps. “And who’s this fine young man?”</p>
<p>“This is Stan,” Kyle announces, hand on his lower back. “He’s staying for Seder.”</p>
<p>“What. A sweet. Friend,” she says, clasping his hand in both of hers. Her engagement ring has a diamond the size of a blueberry. “I’m Mrs. Schwartz, but you can just call me Sadie, sweetheart.” Then she talks to the group at large, still squeezing his hand, as they others move the rest of the luggage inside. “Sorry again about Kyle’s fatha, that bastard doesn’t know how to turn down clients, even on a holiday!”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Gerald huffs, struggling. “That’s quite alright. We have—” He groans as he strains to lift everything. “—plenty of guests this year!”</p>
<p>“Oh Gerry, don’t overwork yourself! You’ve got three strong boys right here!” Sadie pats Stan’s arm. “Kyle, honey, help Mommy move her stuff,” and to Stan she asks in a low voice “Be a doll and carry my bags on up the stairs?”</p>
<p>Sheila steps over to collect her. “Great idea sis, here, while they’re doing that let me show you what we’ve done to the kitchen!”</p>
<p>“Ooh, you have any Wishniak? I need a drink after that flight!” Aunt Sadie’s voice fades as they walk away. “And where’s that other son of yours?”</p>
<p>Kyle stoops to grab one of the bags and Stan takes another. Cousin Kyle follows them upstairs. </p>
<p>“Isn’t this great, cousin Kyle?” Schwartz asks as they drop Sadie’s bags on the guest bed. “We get to sleep over together just like when we were kids?”</p>
<p>Kyle glances at Stan with a <em> kill me now </em> expression as they stop by his room so Schwartz can dump his stuff inside. “Yeah, alright.” Like he has any intention of sharing the bed again—except, of course, with Stan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gerald’s brother arrives soon after and says his hellos. “Kyle my boy!” He gives him a loose hug and a pat. They pull apart and he glances Kyle over. “I see you’ve grown a few inches—Just not vertically!”</p>
<p>Kyle represses a groan. This feels familiar. “Hi Uncle Murrey.”</p>
<p>He’s already moved on, and startles back dramatically spotting Stan. “Is that you, Ike? Oy gevalt, you’ve gotten big!”</p>
<p>Kyle snorts and Sheila says “This is Kyle’s best friend, Stanley. He’s Catholic.”</p>
<p>Uncle Murrey squints to have a better look at him. “Is that so? Hey now—” He wags a finger. “What’s a young gentile doing here with a bunch of schmutz on a Saturday night?” Kyle rolls his eyes. Before Stan can reply Uncle Murrey spots Aunt Sadie and throws up his arms. “Sadie my gal! Good to see you! We got a bottle open yet? I’m feelin’ young tonight!”</p>
<p>Sheila leads him to the kitchen. “I’ll grab the corkscrew.”</p>
<p>And as they walk away Kyle catches Uncle Murrey whispering to his mom. “Is that boy really friends with Kyle?”</p>
<p>Kyle blows a puff of air and Stan bumps him playfully. They grin at each other. Whatever. </p>
<p>And then it’s a real party. The adults pop open the wine and get to drinking early, and Gerald puts on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAZ2grpXgOY">a CD to liven up the atmosphere</a>. Sheila and Sadie gossip while cousin Kyle goes on and on to them about his trip to Israel. Stan and Kyle pretend to look engaged while they snack on hors d'oeuvres, and Kyle whispers “Bet they won’t notice if we go pour ourselves a glass.”</p>
<p>Stan grins and they ditch Schwartz when he’s turned away. Then they’re drinking too, under the guise of “It’s just grape juice, Mom.”</p>
<p>Stan sips his and pulls a face. “It’s so sweet. I feel like I'm drinking grape-flavored cough syrup.”</p>
<p>Kyle downs his with ease. “It’s Manischewitz.”</p>
<p>Then Kyle Schwartz finds them again and starts his story over from the beginning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time Ike returns with Karen, Gerald has his arm locked with his brother and they’re dancing in a circle, singing in Yiddish while everyone claps.</p>
<p>“Oh great,” Ike moans, already knowing what kind of Passover this is going to turn out to be. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Karen giggles and then Ike’s getting dragged into the circle and made to dance too. Karen takes to the music like a fish to water, moving her way in with him, and then it’s not so bad. Stan and Kyle snicker from the archway into the kitchen and drink another cup.</p>
<p>“And who is this?” Aunt Sadie asks, taking Karen’s hand in both of hers. “Sweetheart, you look so pale!” Karen glances over at Ike like she needs rescuing, but he’s being accosted by relatives of his own.</p>
<p>Sheila’s not normally one to boast about it, given their age, but around extended family everything’s bragged about like an accomplishment. “That’s Ike’s little girlfriend, Karen. She’s <em> goth.</em>”</p>
<p>“My my,” Uncle Murrey claps Ike on the back. “Only fourteen and already popular with the ladies.”</p>
<p>Gerald sips his drink, pretending to look humble. “Just like his old man.”</p>
<p>Uncle Murrey turns to look at Kyle, still sniggering from the sidelines with Stan. “What about you, young man? Got a girlfriend yet?”</p>
<p>“Nope,” he declares, raising his glass back to his lips.</p>
<p>Sheila cuts in quickly, “But there’s nothing wrong with not dating.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The evening goes on, discussion turns to school and plans for spring break. Ike’s class trip to Washington DC in May. Cousin Kyle’s accounting internship for some brokerage in New York. Aunt Sadie yaks loudly about the work she’s having done to fix her hairline. Stan and Kyle stick together and when they abscond for a refill cousin Kyle follows along, asking “Oh what are you two drinking? Can I join in?” and Kyle swiftly hides the bottle.</p>
<p>The kids congregate around the snack table. Karen fills them in on the most recent McCormick feud, but Schwartz keeps loudly talking over her to Stan. </p>
<p>“—and the matzah represents the bread the Jews brought with them during the exodus, s-since they had to flee so fast they couldn’t wait for their bread to rise—” </p>
<p>Stan’s struggling to fake interest. “Uhuh.”</p>
<p>“Oh, and you’re probably wondering about the little pillows on our seats—way back when, free people reclined at the table while slaves had to stand, so to celebrate the freedom from slavery—”</p>
<p>Stan raises his brows with a forced smile and nods along. When he glances at his boyfriend Kyle’s got his cup in hand and mouths <em> ‘Broflovski hell.’ </em> Stan grins for real.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Throughout the entire evening, no matter where they go, cousin Kyle finds a way to butt into their conversations. He’s hovering right next to Stan and Kyle when Uncle Murrey asks them about college plans, and Stan grins as he recounts how he managed to get recruited to UCLA. “I was really shocked they wanted me, I totally bombed the SAT.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s vicariously proud. “It’s ‘cause you’re a great pitch—”</p>
<p>“Oh Los Angeles sounds so hot and arid,” cousin Kyle interjects. “I scored in the 97th percentile, but I guess that’s why I’m going to UPenn.”</p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes and puts his attention back on Stan. “I’m just glad we get to go together.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s no Ivy League,” says Gerald, like Kyle hasn’t heard this complaint a million times. “But the UCs are still prestigious.”</p>
<p>“What <em> matters</em>,” Kyle forces, “is that we’re both going where we want.” </p>
<p>“You boys seem pretty close,” Uncle Murrey points out, raising his glass back to his lips.</p>
<p>Stan smiles and claps him on the back. “You can’t get rid of me, dude.” </p>
<p>Kyle smirks back. Behind Stan, he catches sight of his mother disappearing into the kitchen to grab more hors d'oeuvres. Everyone’s drinking merrily and getting along, so Kyle pats Stan’s shoulder, figuring now’s the best time to hit the first item on their agenda.</p>
<p>“Be right back.”</p>
<p>Kyle excuses himself to follow her. She’s busy pouring miniature matzo crackers on a platter, so he steps up and plays the part carefully.</p>
<p>“Hey Mom, need any help?”</p>
<p>Sheila straightens up and turns around. “Well, it’s nice of you to ask after leaving your poor brother with the chores all week,” and she holds out the plate for him</p>
<p>Kyle takes it with a wince. “About that—” His voice drops low. “He doesn’t want to make it a big deal, but—Stan’s been having issues at home.” </p>
<p>Sheila knits her brows and glances out into the front room, where Stan’s engaged in a conversation with both Schwartzes.</p>
<p>Kyle goes on. “He’s really needed support, so I’ve been over there to help him out.” It’s not technically lying, though he doubts his mom will imagine the kind of ‘support’ he means.</p>
<p>Sheila whispers back “Why didn’t you just say so, Kyle?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head and shrugs. “The thing is—Apparently something <em> happened </em>with his dad yesterday. He was clearly high and said some stuff that really messed things up. I don’t think Stan feels comfortable going home. Do you think he could stay at the house after school this week? He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”</p>
<p>She looks sympathetic. “What about his uncle and that fellow he lives with?”</p>
<p>Kyle hisses “Mom, those guys are <em> insane</em>.”</p>
<p>She thinks. “Well, he’s welcome to stay the weekend, but let me talk it over with your father.”</p>
<p>Kyle sighs with relief and picks the plate up again. “God, thank you.”</p>
<p>He carries it out to the front room, and Stan gives him raised eyebrows like <em> ‘...Well? </em>’ </p>
<p>Kyle comes around with the plate. “Matzo and tapenade?”</p>
<p>“Ooh, here here!” Sadie sets aside her glass to take the platter, and Kyle slips a hand around Stan’s arm so they can slink away to the couch. Save him from Jersey mom and her walking stereotype.</p>
<p>Kyle whispers, “Told my mom your dad was being an ass, I think we’re in the clear.” And he points out “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”</p>
<p>Stan’s got a slight alcohol flush going. The only thing in his stomach is mixed nuts, a bunch of cheese on matzah, and two cups of wine. “It’s definitely not what I expected.”</p>
<p>Kyle snorts and laughs, skewering an olive off the coffee table tray with a toothpick. “You shoulda seen the year I was thirteen. My parents got so drunk they couldn’t read the Haggadah. They just threw on the Prince of Egypt and called it a night. We’re not exactly Orthodox.”</p>
<p>Stan chuckles and looks down into his glass, swirling the dark wine. “Sounds better than Christmas at my place.” Somehow his dad manages to screw it up every year.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Kyle puts a hand on his thigh, like he can read his thoughts. “Forget the Marshes. You’re celebrating with my family tonight.” It gets Stan to smile again, and Kyle feels the urge to kiss him—but one thing at a time.</p>
<p>Stan sits back against the couch, relaxing back into the festive atmosphere. “So how do you guys do it?”</p>
<p>Kyle smirks as he bites the olive. “Oh, you’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinnertime arrives and Gerald returns from the basement with a long walking stick and big plastic tub labeled “SEDER”. He drops it in the middle of the floor and flips off the lid. Inside are various toys and a couple flashlights. Rubber frogs, garish costume pieces, little figurines.</p>
<p>Ike reaches in and pulls one out. “Hey, remember when we used to reenact the exodus with Playmobils?” He asks, holding up the little Moses with long white beard.</p>
<p>Sheila calls everyone to the table and Kyle heads over saying “Yeah, when you were still in diapers.”</p>
<p>They squeeze in, scooting close to fit everyone. Stan and Kyle take one head of the table, squished so close their shoulders touch. </p>
<p>“Now, for our guests,” says Gerald, pulling in his chair across from them, “you may not know that Pesach, or Passover, is a very important holiday for our people, and commemorates the story of the Exodus. It’s meant to strengthen our faith and act as a kind of bridge to the future. The story you’ll see us retell is about freedom and redemption..."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Stan follows along and his eyes drop to the plate before him. He examines the intricate design and its contents: egg, bone, lettuce leaf, horse radish, a sprig of parsley, some chopped apples and nuts.</p>
<p>“Uh, is this all we’re eating?” He whispers to Kyle as Sheila comes around to fill their Kiddush cups with wine.</p>
<p>Cousin Kyle’s looks into his glass and asks “Wh-what’s the alcoholic content in this? I can’t drink too fast or else I get woozy.”</p>
<p>Kyle picks up his cup and leans back on Stan. “You think I look like this from eating one egg and a couple of leaves every night? Patience.” He clanks their chalices together. “Cheers.”</p>
<p>“Cheers,” Stan echoes with a grin, and they race each other to the bottom of their cups while Gerald lights candles and recites the first blessing.</p>
<p>A bowl is passed around to wash their hands, then they dip their parsley in salt water. </p>
<p>“Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who creates the fruit of the earth,” Gerald reads from his text.</p>
<p>Kyle rips the head off the sprig with his teeth and chews it, so Stan does the same. They pull out the matzo under their plates and he follows along the best he can. </p>
<p>“This is the bread of destitution that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Anyone who is famished should come and eat, anyone who is in need should come and partake of the Pesach sacrifice...”</p>
<p>Kyle snaps his perfectly in half and Stan breaks off a little chip. He’s self-conscious for a moment until Karen accidentally breaks hers into four. This first ‘official’ cup of wine is really starting to hit, because Aunt Sadie is struggling with her fake nails and the whole matzo crumbles. They all laugh it off and Sheila comes around to pour the second glass.</p>
<p>“Oh boy, time for Maggid,” cousin Kyle says excitedly as he takes ten drops from his cup for the plague of blood. </p>
<p>Gerald sets down his text and asks “Alright, who’s going to play Pharaoh Ramses?” </p>
<p>“Not me,” Ike says swiftly. “You’re not pelting me with frogs three years in a row.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s fist bangs on the table heavily, chalice empty. He gives Stan a drunk leer. “I think it should be the <em> gentile</em>.”</p>
<p>Stan’s nearly done with his glass, and his reaction is slow. “What? What do I do?” </p>
<p>Kyle’s already pushing back from the table, and dragging him to his feet. “I’m Moses!”</p>
<p>They dig through the bin and Kyle pulls out a gaudy Halloween store Egyptian headdress and tosses it at Stan. With it comes a gold lamé chestplate and a shendyt skirt. Stan gulps and puts it on over his pants, struggling to keep his balance. Kyle wraps himself in a red bathrobe and takes up the walking stick while Ike passes out the other items around the table.</p>
<p>“Hey—” Kyle points his staff at Stan as he tries to figure out the headdress. He taps Stan right in the chest. “They didn’t have shirts in ancient Egypt!”</p>
<p>Stan grins back with incredulity and Aunt Sadie slurs “I think he’s right!”</p>
<p>Kyle’s smirk is lascivious. “Take it off.”</p>
<p>Ike hides behind his hands.</p>
<p>“It-it would make it a more accurate reenactment,” cousin Kyle adds.</p>
<p>Clearly outnumbered and too tipsy to protest, Stan lifts the shirt and Kyle helps yank it over his head. When he stands straight again he re-fixes the costume, and there’s a number of eyes on his midriff. He’s drunk enough to feel no shame, and the look Kyle gives him is making it hard to hear Gerald’s translation of the text.</p>
<p>“—The Egyptians treated us badly, they made us suffer, and put hard work upon us. We cried out to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our voice—”</p>
<p>Ike gets up to play the Egyptian, swinging an invisible whip. Stan sits back and watches Kyle pretend to kill him by wrestling him to the ground and sitting on him. “I’m dead! I’m dead!” Ike shouts, trying to push him off while the rest of them howl. </p>
<p>Kyle gets up. They shut off the lights and shine their flashlights at Ike as he wiggles his fingers from the floor. “Whooo, I’m burninnnng.”</p>
<p>“Oh shit! A talking bush!” Kyle exclaims.</p>
<p>“Kyle! Language!” Sheila says, pointing her beam at him.</p>
<p>“What! It’s totally what Moses said!”</p>
<p>“Moses, you must go back,” says Ike from the floor. “Get Pharaoh to let my people go.”</p>
<p>“And so, Moses returned to Egypt and spoke with Pharaoh,” Gerald continues.</p>
<p>Sounds like Stan’s cue. He steps back up as the lights come on again and Kyle points the staff at him. “God is pissed, dude! Let my people go!”</p>
<p>Stan looks about the table for a hint. “Uh… no?”</p>
<p>“Booo!” Aunt Sadie jeers. “Boo Pharaoh!”</p>
<p>Kyle jabs his finger in Stan’s chest repeatedly. “I’ve got like ten plagues in store for your ass if you don’t do what I say! And number three is lice!”</p>
<p>Stan titters, this is actually kind of fun. He could see himself doing this for years to come, after college, when things get serious. <em> I could be a Broflovski, </em> he thinks, <em> sure beats holidays at my house.  </em></p>
<p>Stan sucks in to get in character, squaring his shoulders. “Do your worst, Moses! I’ll take everything you throw at me!”</p>
<p>Kyle smirks dangerously, getting in his face. “Bring on the plagues!” Then everyone’s hurling their rubber frogs at Stan.</p>
<p>He flails drunkenly and hugs Kyle for protection. “Nooo! No, stop!” he cries amid Karen’s boisterous laughter. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Kyle hugs back with a smirk. “Had enough?”</p>
<p>His headdress is going crooked over his eyes, and Stan pushes away, stumbling back with a flushed grin. “Not a chance!” He slurs. “You’re gonna have to do better than that!”</p>
<p>They proceed through the remaining eight, and Gerald narrates. “The Holy One, blessed be He, brought on the plagues, but Pharaoh’s heart was hardened. He would not let the children of Israel go.”</p>
<p>By the time they’re flickering the lights for the plague of darkness it’s obvious Stan and Kyle are drunk off their asses. They lean on each other, swaying and giggling. </p>
<p>“Let ‘em go, dude!” Kyle shouts.</p>
<p>Stan pinches him through the bathrobe and gets in his face. “No! No no no no!”</p>
<p>Kyle grabs the cobra on his headdress and yanks it down over his eyes. “Do it!”</p>
<p>“Alright boys, I think it’s time we got some food in you,” says Sheila. They continue their back and forth all the way back to their seats. She shakes her head. “And he wonders why I don’t let him drink on Purim.”</p>
<p>They skip the second handwashing and a couple prayers and get right to the horseradish. Everyone else pulls out more matzo and starts putting food together on their plates, and they whisper conspicuously to each other.</p>
<p>“Didn’t even get to part the Red Sea,” Kyle breathes with a giggle.</p>
<p>“You mean you don’t wanna be my slave?” Stan asks.</p>
<p>Kyle balks. “I’m gonna plague your ass, just for that!”</p>
<p>They snicker together and Stan whispers “You wanna do something else to it too?”</p>
<p>“Bubbe, eat your Hillel sandwich, it’ll help sober you up,” Sheila says, regaining their attention.</p>
<p>Kyle keeps smirking back at him as he combines ingredients into a matzo sandwich. “I’m gonna do <em> something </em>to it tonight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thank god sandwiches aren’t the only thing on the menu, they’re both starving. Sheila makes several trips to the kitchen to grab every dish, and then the table is packed with food. Gefilte fish and megina and endless matzo brei. Stan takes a liberal helping and sinks back into his seat, moaning in approval as he chews. No wonder Kyle’s so heavy. This is like Jewish soul food.</p>
<p>“So, Stan and Karen,” Uncle Murrey asks toward the tail end of dinner. The boys are still working on their second helpings, and with full stomachs and the evening winding down they’re gradually regaining sobriety. “What do you think of Passover?”</p>
<p>“It’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be,” Karen admits, sipping her grape juice.</p>
<p>Stan nods. “It’s cool to learn about. All the steps and stuff. Jewish traditions are pretty interesting.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, th-there’s lots of rules,” cousin Kyle chimes in. He seems to have loosened up with his glass of wine. “It makes everything so predictable and orderly.”</p>
<p>“Well,” says Gerald, “assuming we actually make it through all the steps one of these years.” The table laughs.</p>
<p>Sheila eyes Stan as she blots her mouth with a napkin. “Stanley, you know you don’t have to go the whole night with your shirt off.”</p>
<p>Kyle simpers as he takes another bite. “With pecs like that?” He’s still tipsy.</p>
<p>Ike tips back his chalice and whispers “Your gay is showing.”</p>
<p>Suddenly all attention is back on Stan and he looks down at himself like he didn’t even realize. “Uh, it’s okay, I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>Sheila pushes back from the table and stands. “Well, I’m going to go grab dessert.” and she disappears into the kitchen.</p>
<p>Aunt Sadie’s still locked in on Stan. “You’re so <em> fit</em>, do you work out?” She asks, laying her acrylic nails on his arm.</p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes. She’s his mother’s sister alright.</p>
<p>Stan gives a stilted chuckle, and since he wants to make a good impression he figures a little showboating can’t hurt. He flexes the muscle for her and puts a hand over to feel. Kyle averts his gaze with a little smirk. That’s right, Stan is mancandy. “Just to stay in shape, we just started the new baseball season at school. Tuesday we play Greeley.”</p>
<p>“Stan’s pitcher,” Kyle boasts.</p>
<p>“Oh baseball, I like baseball,” cousin Kyle interjects. “Sports are so violent and you get all sweaty playing them—B-Baseball on the other hand—You know I actually tried out for my school’s team but they wouldn’t let me play on account of my weight and asthma.”</p>
<p>Kyle has to turn away to hide his cocked brow, knowing better. Schwartz didn’t make the team because he fucking sucks.</p>
<p>“I have asthma,” Stan says. “If you want to play then just do it.”</p>
<p>Cousin Kyle looks mystified. “They still let you on the team?”</p>
<p>Stan shrugs. “Sports are really big out here. Everyone I know plays something, weight shouldn’t stop you.”</p>
<p>Schwartz stares like he’s never heard anyone say that before. He turns to Kyle. “What about you, cousin Kyle? I mean, you’re big and fat, do you do a sport?”</p>
<p>He stops mid-chew and narrows his eyes. “Uh, no.” </p>
<p>Stan jumps in before this gets heated. “I don’t see what the big deal is with weight. You can still be a good athlete and have a normal life.”</p>
<p>Sheila returns from the kitchen with a tray of chocolate mousse and sets one before each person. “You know what it is, all the negative stereotypes in the media telling kids no one will be attracted to you if you’re a little bigger.”</p>
<p>“It’s a complete outrage!” Aunt Sadie agrees, and pinches her son’s cheek. “My little bubbeleh has so much to love!”</p>
<p>He tenses his shoulders and shies away. “Jeez, not in the face! The oils on your hand will aggravate my acne!”</p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes, and thankfully the wine makes the rounds again too. He refills his Kiddush cup. “Not everyone thinks that, Ma.”</p>
<p>“Some people even prefer it,” Stan says with a shrug.</p>
<p>The temptation is too great. Ike asks “Do <em> you </em> prefer it, Stan?”</p>
<p>Suddenly all eyes are on him again, and Stan blinks out over the table. The alcohol flush goes a shade darker. “I mean, I’m not opposed.”</p>
<p>“I think half the guys we know are unopposed,” Kyle says, coming to his rescue. “Butters is dating Eric Cartman and no one gives a shit. Kenny’s outspoken. And you know how Tweek and Craig are. No one cares about you and that you’re bi. I don’t think anything’s shocking anymore.”</p>
<p>Stan kicks him under the table. Whoops. Kyle blames the alcohol.</p>
<p>“Oh really?” Sheila retakes her seat and glances to Stan with mild surprise. “I didn’t know you were bisexual, Stanley.” </p>
<p>Cousin Kyle is blinking at him behind big glasses, and Ike rubs his brow to hide his amused grimace. </p>
<p>Stan shrugs, and takes Kyle’s hand under the table. “It’s no big deal.”</p>
<p>Sheila purses her lips. “Well it’s refreshing to hear you kids support each other so much.” And the table resumes eating.</p>
<p>Kyle raises his glass and glances at Stan. He returns the look. It’s one way to put it.</p>
<p>Gerald says “Well I’m just glad to belong to a family which supports each other so much. In fact, I’d like to make a toast.” He stands with his chalice and looks out over the table. “To the Broflovskis and the Schwartzes—and our dear friends. For being here with us for this special night, and being a part of our lives.” </p>
<p>Stan feels Kyle kick him under the table. </p>
<p>Gerald raises his glass. “L'Shana haba'ah b'Yerushalayim!”</p>
<p>Everyone else raises theirs, so Stan does the same. He watches with a smile as they chant “Next year in Jerusalem!”</p>
<p>Everyone drinks, but this time Kyle turns to him instead, grinning as he retakes his hand under the table. Stan glances back and lowers his cup. The look Kyle’s giving him says <em> now’s the time</em>, so he sits up a little straighter.</p>
<p>“Hey, since everyone’s here,” Kyle raises his voice, drawing the attention of the table, “and it’s so rare we all get to gather as a family—There’s something I want to say.”</p>
<p>“Ooh, ooh,” suddenly cousin Kyle is bouncing in his seat. “A-Actually there’s something I need to say as well.”</p>
<p>Kyle has to repress a scoff. Instead he lifts his hand like <em> out with it</em>. “Alright, you can go ahead.” Whatever this is it better be fucking good.</p>
<p>Cousin Kyle shifts his napkin in his lap nervously. “W-well, um, I already told my mom this before we came, but I wanted to say it in person. Oh jeez—I better just get it out there. Aunt Sheila, everyone else—I’m gay too. Oh boy, I said it!”</p>
<p>Ike’s mousse falls off his spoon back into the cup and Stan’s jaw is slack. Kyle looks scandalized. Offended even. His grip on Stan’s hand is suddenly crushing.</p>
<p>If Sheila’s shocked she doesn’t show it. “Oh, well, thank you for telling us, Kyle. That must have taken a lot of bravery.”</p>
<p>“You know we don’t judge in this household,” says Gerald.</p>
<p>“Oh that’s so good to hear,” cousin Kyle sighs with relief, deflating back into his chair. “I-I was so nervous I was sweating bullets. I had no idea when would be a good time to say.”</p>
<p>Ike glances between the Kyles. His brother’s got a look of horror locked on his face, and Stan’s at a loss for words.</p>
<p>“Well you’re always accepted here,” Sheila adds. </p>
<p>“Isn’t this neat, cousin Kyle?” Schwartz asks, making Kyle glance away. “Now everyone can just call me ‘the gay Kyle’!”</p>
<p>Kyle grumbles “Yeah, <em> neat</em>,” and lifts his glass to gulp the rest. Stan chews his lip, staying silent.</p>
<p>The rest of the table express their support, and no one even remembers to ask them what they were going to announce, so Kyle just drinks instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinner ends and Uncle Murrey bids everyone goodnight before leaving. Ike volunteers to walk Karen home. Stan and Kyle throw their costumes back in the plastic tub as Sheila suggests they all sleep the meal off, and cousin Kyle follows them up the stairs.</p>
<p>“Oh boy, and now we can all stay up and chitchat, maybe talk about baseball some more—”</p>
<p>Kyle stomps over to his bed and grabs Rivers. He glares down at his sheets, still ravaged from that morning when he and Stan fucked. Cousin Kyle comes right over and sits on the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable.</p>
<p>“—I think all the wine made me tipsy, I feel lightheaded.” He glances at Stan. “Are you going to spend the night?”</p>
<p>Stan doesn’t speak out of solidarity. He watches from the doorway as Kyle pulls clothes out of his dresser.</p>
<p>Cousin Kyle flops back against the bed, barely getting his glasses on the nightstand. “Are these sheets clean? I think I smell something rancid…” A second later he’s snoring loudly.</p>
<p>Down in the basement Stan zips their sleeping bags together so they can spoon, and Kyle’s still livid. He hisses in the dark. “All fucking night, dude. He pisses me off all fucking night—and then just drops that fucking bomb!”</p>
<p>Stan hugs into him tighter. “Fucking weak, dude.”</p>
<p>“I should have just fucking said it. Why the hell did I let him talk?”</p>
<p>“Is there something I can do?” Stan asks, hand rubbing up Kyle’s arm. “I could suck you off, or…”</p>
<p>Kyle huffs. “I’m really <em> tired</em>, Stan.” For the first time since they started dating he’s not in the mood. “Maybe in the morning.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. We're In This Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>WARNING: Graphic art ahead!</strong> (but still no dicks 😢)</p>
<p>Everyone go watch The Prince of Egypt!</p>
<p>I apologize in advance for this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the second day of Passover Stan wakes up to a phone call. He drags his crusty eyes open and winces at the sound. His head is pounding. Beside him Kyle groans and pulls the sleeping bag over his head. He’s not the only one with a wicked hangover. Stan forces his arm out into the chilly basement air and searches the floor for his pants. God, this better not be his dad.</p>
<p>He pulls out his phone and blinks vapidly at the caller ID. He accepts the call and moans “Sup.”</p>
<p>“<em>Yo.</em>” Kenny’s voice cuts through the line. “<em>You with the chubby hubby?</em>”</p>
<p>“What do you want, dude?” Stan croaks.</p>
<p>“<em>It’s Sunday, sleeping beauty. Get your asses to Stark’s Pond. It’s time to initiate my plan.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They get dressed and creep back up the stairs. Kyle peeks out from behind the basement door. Looks like the family’s eating in the kitchen, a good enough distraction. He and Stan sneak over to the coat closet to grab jackets, and as he’s pulling on his usual orange a voice comes from behind them that makes Kyle jump.</p>
<p>“Oh you’re up,” says cousin Kyle. “A-Aunt Sheila wanted me to come get you guys for lunch, it’s nearly one o’clock.”</p>
<p>Fuck. Caught. Kyle slams the closet door shut. “We can’t eat, we’re going out.”</p>
<p>“Oh really? Just the two of you?”</p>
<p>Stan’s still doing his laces and watching Kyle’s irked expression deepen.</p>
<p>“We have to help out a friend,” he says. “It’s kind of <em> private</em>.” Kyle grabs Stan’s arm, leading him toward the door. </p>
<p>Schwartz follows. “W-well could I come along? Maybe I could help out?”</p>
<p>Kyle stuffs his feet into his boots, hands-free. “No, you can’t!”</p>
<p>He just won’t quit. He hovers just behind Kyle. “Well there’s not really anything for me to do here, are you sure I couldn’t just—”</p>
<p>“I said no!”</p>
<p>Schwartz looks to Stan, who’s staying out of this. “Well what about your friend Stan? Shouldn’t he get a say?”</p>
<p>Kyle’s got the door open, but freezes and whirls back around to him. He takes a step toward his cousin, finger in his face. He’s so mad his voice is a gritted hiss. “Don’t <em> ever </em> call him that.”</p>
<p>Schwartz blinks back, stunned. “B-but that’s his name.”</p>
<p>Kyle retakes Stan’s arm and yanks him out the door. “You’re not coming!” </p>
<p>It slams shut behind them, making Schwartz wince. </p>
<p>“Christ, he’s staying the whole fucking <em> week</em>,” Kyle laments as he hops into Stan’s truck. </p>
<p>“If I could hide you at my house I would.” And Stan turns the ignition.</p>
<p>Kyle Schwartz watches them speed off from the living room window, sigh fogging the glass. He walks back to the kitchen where Sheila’s still washing dishes and asks “Aunt Sheila? Can I talk to you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cartman scoffs from the top of the picnic table when he sees them approach. “You fags look abysmal.” Kyle’s ‘fro is lopsided, Stan’s hair in a cowlick. Their faces are grimy, unwashed. “Kyle’s mom catch you sampling the pork?”</p>
<p>“Can it, fatshit,” Kyle drones.</p>
<p>Stan sighs as they all group up, Kenny and Butters stepping over from the pond shore. “Let’s just not get into it.”</p>
<p>Kenny clasps his hands together, rubbing them. “Alright, enough squawking from the flock. Let’s get to work, wingmen!”</p>
<p>First stop is KFC, because Stan and Kyle still haven’t eaten, and they’re all peckish. The others move through the line quickly. Cartman orders for both himself and Butters, knowing exactly what he wants. Kenny just asks for a water cup, hoping for leftovers he can scavenge. The cashier waits impatiently for Stan and Kyle to make up their minds, and makes a revolted frown at their clasped hands. Kyle scowls right back, not in the mood.</p>
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</div><p>They get a table and Butters feels so sorry for Kenny he suggests they pool all their food together. It’s his birthday after all. All it actually accomplishes is starting a fight over the best pieces. </p>
<p>“Stop eating all the thighs, Cartman!” Kyle barks.</p>
<p>He chews the skin off one. “You don’t need the fat.”</p>
<p>Stan’s just glad for the normalcy.</p>
<p>Kenny’s hardly touched the strips Butters offered him and drums the eraser of his pencil against his lip, thinking of verses. He jots another on his notepad.</p>
<p>“Alright, how’s this sound?” He holds it up to read. </p>
<p></p>
<p></p><dd>“Ebony enchantress<br/>Rotund temptress <br/><em> Henrietta </em><br/>Femme fatale, you are my nightshade<br/>With curves so ample you put Elvira to shame<br/>You’re dark as the reaper, and I dream of you often<br/>Your body’s my grave and I crave for my coffin <br/>I’m starved by your bounty, let me worship your plate<br/>Down on my knees, dying for a taste—”</dd><p>“Jesus, Kenny, don’t be such a simp.” Cartman says, licking the grease off his fingers. “You trying to bang her or lick her boots?”</p>
<p>He huffs and slaps the notepad down. “Stan, help me out here? You used to be one of her minions.”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “Ten years ago.”</p>
<p>“Maybe just put how you really like her, and want to eat her out and stuff,” Butters suggests.</p>
<p>Kenny scratches a record on his air turntable. “Your tits give me chills, I got good dicking skills, and I’ll go down on that pussy until I evolve gills—”</p>
<p>“God this chicken’s so fucking DRY!” Cartman shouts. “I paid twenty bucks for <em> this?</em>” He eats it anyway.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m actually trying really hard you guys,” Kenny says to the rest of them. “What the hell do I write?”</p>
<p>Kyle pulls out a biscuit. “Dude, you’re the one in AP Psych.” He dunks it in Stan’s mashed potatoes. “Use some of your Freudian skills and tap into her deranged psyche.”</p>
<p>“Yeah!” Butters gives him a smile. “Think of stuff she likes!”</p>
<p>Kenny thinks hard. “I don’t know if she actually <em> likes </em> anything.”</p>
<p>“She hates Bradley,” says Stan. “Just tell her we’ll bag him up and toss him in the lake.”</p>
<p>“Can we grab my cousin while we’re at it?” asks Kyle.</p>
<p>Kenny smirks over at their porcine friend. “How about we get Cartman to make her parents some of his famous chili?”</p>
<p>Cartman sucks down soda and pinches one of Kenny’s poems between his fingers, waving it limply. “This was your whole plan? Woo the bitch with words?”</p>
<p>“Hey, my sister said it would work!” He snatches the paper out of his greasy grip. Kenny shakes it at all of them. “Every guy wants a big titty goth girlfriend—I might actually get one!”</p>
<p>“I hate to agree with Cartman, but this is so stupid,” says Stan, tossing his balled napkin into his empty tray.</p>
<p>“Uh, you’re the romantic one!” Kenny snaps. “How do you impress a goth girl?”</p>
<p>“I have no fucking clue! Stand outside her window in all black and play—” He scrunches his face, thinking. “Nine Inch Nails.”</p>
<p>Kenny slaps his hand on the table. “That’s. Genius.”</p>
<p>Kyle raises his brows, throwing out his napkin too. “If we’re doing this I’m gonna need to get pumped.”</p>
<p>Stan glares out across the dingy restaurant. “Yeah, I need to let off steam.”</p>
<p>Kenny grins. “Let’s get pissed!”</p>
<p>“This chicken’s shit.” Cartman flicks the bone back in the bucket. “Fuck this place. I say vengeance.”</p>
<p>Kyle smirks at Stan, ready to vent some pent up aggression. “That cashier looked at us funny.”</p>
<p>Stan quirks an amused brow and squints menacingly. “I’ll fuck her up.”</p>
<p>Butters punches his palm. “Time for chaos!”</p>
<p>Kenny kicks back from the table, chair crashing to the floor. Kyle lifts his and throws it into another table. The chairs crash like bowling pins. Butters throws their tub of mashed potatoes, splattering across the windows. Stan and Cartman flip the table and chicken flies across the filthy floor in all directions. </p>
<p>They run out of the restaurant whooping and howling. Kyle hurls his drink at the cashier, screaming “FUCK YOU, BITCH!”</p>
<p>They cram into Stan’s truck and peel out of the lot, headbanging all the way to Kenny’s house.</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oCRjFA3JD8"> “<em>Bang bang! Give me fame! Shoot me up to entertain. I am a semi-automatic lonely boy. You're dead! I'm well fed! Give me death or give me head. Daddy's little psycho and mommy's little soldier!</em>” </a>
</p>
<p>They swarm the place, and Kenny bangs in Karen’s door. She’s laying upside down off the end of her bed talking on the phone, and jumps up with a surprised scream.</p>
<p>“I need you to make me goth!” Kenny shouts.</p>
<p>They sit around her stained carpet all afternoon as she does his makeup and paints his nails. Butters grabs Kenny’s bong from his room and packs a bowl while <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdFaadxJl4g">Pretty Hate Machine</a> plays on Karen’s old Hello Kitty boombox. Stan and Kyle share a bottle of scotch they find left out in the kitchen, and Cartman and Butters pass the piece between them. When Kenny rips it he leaves black lipstick on the mouthpiece. </p>
<p>Weed seems to loosen Cartman up; Butters crawls right into his lap with the bong and he doesn’t protest. Cartman holds the lighter flame up to the bowl and pulls it out for his boyfriend, and when Butters lifts his head to blow smoke he’s got black smudged on his lips.</p>
<p>Kyle sniggers, but then they start trying to swallow each others’ tongues and Cartman’s palming Butters’ ass with his fat hand. Kyle grimaces, leaning back against Stan.</p>
<p>“<em>Bow down before the one you serve. You're going to get what you deserve. Bow down before the one you serve. You're going to get what you deserve.</em>”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Butters breaks the kiss with a pant, and Cartman catches Kyle’s disgust. “It’s okay to feel jealous, Kyle.”</p>
<p>He just raises the bottle back to his lips, saying “You’ve got Kenny’s lipstick on your mouth.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They add the finishing touches to Kenny, a couple spiked bracelets and a choker borrowed from Karen. He throws on his mom’s tight leather jacket, almost too small to fit on his arms, and head out after dusk. Stan drives slow so they don’t get pulled over, and parks down the street from the Biggle house. They hide behind the bushes and Kenny stands on her lawn, looking up at her window. The curtains are drawn, but he can see a light on within.</p>
<p>Still stoned and cavalier, he holds up the Hello Kitty Boombox, volume on max, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bs0I_FTG9vs">hits play</a>.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>The boys poke their eyes out from behind the shrubbery. There’s a fairly long fade-in, and no movement within the house. </p>
<p>Kyle squints at the window. “What if she’s not home?”</p>
<p>“The fuck is that bitch gonna do on a Sunday night?” Cartman asks. “Haunt the Village Inn?”</p>
<p>There’s a rustle behind the curtains as the song picks up, and Kenny sucks in, locking his arms straight up.</p>
<p>“<em>I've become... impossible! Holding on to when—When everything seemed to matter more. The two of us—All used and beaten up. Watching fate... as it flows... down the path... we have chose.</em>”</p>
<p>Henrietta peers down from the gap in her curtains with impassive eyes. Kenny gulps and squints back.</p>
<p>“<em>You and me—We're in this together now! None of them can stop us now! We will make it through somehow! You and me—If the world should break in two—Until the very end of me—Until the very end of you</em><em>!</em>”</p>
<p>She turns away and the curtain flaps shut. </p>
<p>“She’s coming down!” Kenny exclaims, dropping his arms.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah!” Butters cheers, forgetting he’s supposed to be hiding. “You’re a casanova!”</p>
<p>Her bedroom light switches off and Stan and Kyle slap five. Kenny nods his head eagerly as he waits, and the song plays on. </p>
<p>“<em>Awake to the sound as they peel apart the skin. They pick and they pull—Trying to get their fingers in. Well they've got to kill what we've found. Well they've got to hate what they fear. Well they've got to make it go away. Well they've got to make it disappear.</em>”</p>
<p>Butters is still celebrating behind him, but Kenny’s expression slowly falls. The light in the downstairs never comes on. The house is dark and silent. </p>
<p>“Hey! Turn off that music!” A neighbor shouts from their window.</p>
<p>Kenny stands there staring at her closed door with a defeated gape. He looks down at the snow about his feet.</p>
<p>“<em>The farther I fall, I'm beside you. As lost as I get, I will find you. The deeper the wound, I'm inside you. For ever and ever I'm a part of—</em>”</p>
<p>Kenny clicks off the boombox.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dude, fuck that cunt,” Stan says back in his truck. They sit in the dark with the engine off in front of someone’s house, and Butters rubs Kenny’s back.</p>
<p>He shakes his head. He’s not crying, but he sniffs hard. “Knew I should have played Closer.”</p>
<p>“That bitch needs to get her head checked,” Kyle says from his seat. “You’re better off.”</p>
<p>Butters pets his hair, trying to be consoling. “What’ll make ya feel better, buddy?”</p>
<p>He lifts his brows, eyes dull. “I could smoke another bowl,” he says candidly. </p>
<p>Cartman’s lounged back beside him, seemingly unaffected. “If it’s your stash I’m down.”</p>
<p>Kyle scowls into the backseat. “Really Cartman?”</p>
<p>“Would you guys stay the night?” Kenny asks, turning back to them.</p>
<p>Butters grin is pitying. “Sure we can.”</p>
<p>Kyle chews his lip. “I can’t. My stupid fucking cousin is over. My mom would kill me if I ditched all night.”</p>
<p>“I gotta stick with Kyle,” Stan adds. </p>
<p>Kyle blinks at his boyfriend, surprised. “You don’t have to do that, dude.”</p>
<p>Stan just takes his hand, lacing the fingers. “I’m not gonna make you deal with him all alone.” </p>
<p>Cartman scoffs. “You fags go ahead and run home to mommy. Us <em> real </em>friends will take care of goth reject.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Stan drops them off, and as he drives back to the Broflovski residence Kyle feels a pit of dread open up in his stomach. “God, I don’t want to go back.”</p>
<p>“Neither do I,” Stan admits. </p>
<p>They give each other a sniff over to make sure there’s no lingering pot stench before walking up the driveway. Kyle breaks out his keys, and prays everyone is already asleep. Inside he finds Ike and cousin Kyle sitting on the couch, eating sorbet and watching the TV. </p>
<p>Instantly Schwartz whips his head over and spots them in the doorway. “You’re back!”</p>
<p>Kyle groans. “<em>Oy vey.</em>”</p>
<p>Ike sets his dessert aside and gets up. </p>
<p>Cousin Kyle looks ecstatic to see them. “You’re just in time! We just started the Prince of Egypt, if I can just find the stupid remote I’ll go ahead and rewind it—”</p>
<p>“Uh, we had kind of a full day,” Kyle begins. “We’re just gonna go down to the basement and go to sleep—”</p>
<p>Ike intercepts him before they can slink away. He grabs Kyle’s arm and hisses “I had to hang out with him <em> all day</em>. Karen texted me saying what you were really up to. Take over with him or I'm telling Mom you were out <em> drinking and smoking</em>."</p>
<p>Fuck, that little snitch. “God, alright,” Kyle groans. “Thanks for covering.”</p>
<p>Ike sighs and releases him. “Ugh, thank god.” He heads for the stairs.</p>
<p>Kyle looks back into the living room as Schwartz mutters to himself, trying to figure out the TV remote. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”</p>
<p>Stan squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll just sit through one movie. It’s already decently late.”</p>
<p>They enter the living room and cousin Kyle moves over to make room. “I-I can’t seem to work out this remote, there’s too many buttons and it’s so dark in here I can’t see a thing—”</p>
<p>Gerald steps out from the kitchen and spots them just as they’re about to sit. “Kyle, you’re back. Come into the kitchen a moment, we need to talk.”</p>
<p>Kyle groans. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves Stan there at the end of the couch.</p>
<p>Schwartz scoots to close the gap between them. “Could you help me with the TV? I think I’m getting uh-eye strain from trying to read the little labels…”</p>
<p>Gerald leads Kyle just inside the kitchen and folds his arms, looking stern. “Kyle, you can’t just run off when you have family over. Your cousin was stuck here all day with nothing to do and he’s feeling very excluded...” </p>
<p>Of course. Kyle tunes his dad out, glancing back into the living room. Stan’s restarted the movie, but cousin Kyle’s not even watching it. Instead he raves loudly.</p>
<p>“If you liked the retelling of the exodus story last night you’re gonna really love this. You know religious leaders from all three faiths have applauded this movie on its theology?”</p>
<p>Stan mutters something incomprehensible, and Schwartz smiles back at him.</p>
<p>“...and you’ve been acting cold to him ever since last night at dinner.” Gerald continues. “Now I know it’s a bit of a shock, but he’s your family, and that means…”</p>
<p>Kyle squints at the couch, trying to make out what he’s seeing.</p>
<p>Cousin Kyle points at the TV. “Ooh, th-this is the part where Jocheved sends baby Moses down the river ‘cause the Egyptians are gonna kill all the newborn boys,” he says, and lays a hand on Stan’s arm.</p>
<p>Kyle gapes with incredulity. His voice is a breathless whisper. “<em>You son of a bitch</em>.”</p>
<p>“...Your mother and I talked, and as long as Stan is staying over you two have to include him!” Gerald concludes.</p>
<p>It snaps Kyle back to the kitchen. “What?!” </p>
<p>Cousin Kyle and Stan turn to see what’s up. Stan notices the hand and moves his arm away. </p>
<p>Kyle’s pissed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”</p>
<p>“Now Kyle!” Gerald raises a finger. “Those are the rules! Either you all make peace and spend time together, or Stan goes home!”</p>
<p>“O-oh boy, we all get to hang out?”</p>
<p>Kyle cups his hands around his face and groans. This isn’t happening.</p>
<p>“It’s just for a few days,” says Gerald. “Watch some movies. Show him around.” Kyle moans and his dad puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I know he’s not your favorite cousin, but just try to bear with it.”</p>
<p>Kyle heaves a sigh and moves out from under his hand. “I’ll watch the freaking movie.” </p>
<p>Gerald goes up to bed, and Kyle grumbles as he grabs sorbet from the freezer and the open wine bottle off the kitchen table. Begrudgingly, he plops down between his boyfriend and his cousin, pushing them apart, and shoves a spoon in Stan’s hand.</p>
<p>“Well you missed the part with the chariot chase, but they’re about to introduce Tzipporah, the wife of Moses—”</p>
<p>“Here’s an idea,” Kyle says forcefully, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He rips the top off his dessert. “Why don’t we give this movie the respect it deserves and not talk during the film?”</p>
<p>“Ooh, g-good idea, we can just sing along to the soundtrack.”</p>
<p>It gets Schwartz to shut up. They sit back to watch, eating sorbet and passing the bottle around. Kyle leans his head on Stan’s shoulder, Stan’s thumb secretly stroking his thigh, and he can almost pretend they’re alone.</p>
<p>The wine knocks cousin Kyle out by the time Moses flees Egypt, then he’s snoring against the armrest. They could sneak away now, but neither Stan or Kyle say anything. The movie plays on and Kyle tucks his legs up under himself. Stan slings an arm over him, and they cuddle. </p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oG0a9WFkgzU">Through Heaven’s Eyes</a> has always been Kyle’s least favorite track, but when it comes on this time he has a newfound appreciation for it. On screen Moses and Tzipporah dance before the bonfire at their wedding and he thinks <em> this movie is better than I remember. </em></p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fuimQA8Was">The Plagues</a> start. Moses and Ramses face off amid swarms of frogs and fiery hail, and Stan says “Check it out, it’s us.”</p>
<p>Kyle snorts. “See what happens when you don’t let my people go?”</p>
<p>Stan yawns. “I think I’m about ready to go—to bed.”</p>
<p>“School night,” Kyle says, patting his thigh to get him up. “Well, for you.”</p>
<p>They leave the movie running and head for the bathroom to brush their teeth. “I’ll be back after practice,” Stan promises, using the extra toothbrush he keeps next to Kyle’s. </p>
<p>Down in the basement Stan strips to get into the sleeping bag and Kyle finds the SEDER tub dumped in front of the shelf with the lid half on. He kneels down to put it away and ends up poking through the props. He snorts, pulling out the pharaoh headdress.</p>
<p>“I think my dad bought this shit at a Spirit Halloween store.” He sits on the couch and puts it on. It hardly fits over his hair. In a booming voice he commands “Kneel before the morning and evening star.”</p>
<p>Stan laughs and sweeps up the blanket from the floor. He drapes it over his nude body like robes. “I don’t take orders like a slave, Ramses,” he retorts playfully.</p>
<p>Kyle smirks and pushes up. “So sure?” He moves toward Stan with a smooth Egyptian walk, looking sly and lascivious. “You should know, you’re...” He slides a hand up Stan’s chest and goes <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQ39HEYysOA">a cappella</a>. “<em>Playing with the big boys now.</em>”</p>
<p>Stan snickers and snakes an arm around him.</p>
<p>Kyle slings his arms over Stan’s shoulders. “<em>Playing with the big boys now.</em>” Stan squeezes him in, smirk hovering over his. Kyle teases a finger along his jaw. “<em>By the might of Horus, you will kneel before us—So boy, it’s time to bow!</em>” He backs up into the couch and pulls Stan down with him. “<em>Bow down!</em>”</p>
<p>“Is this what will get you to change your mind?” Stan asks, gladly dropping to his knees between Kyle’s legs. His hands rub up the inside of his thighs.</p>
<p>Kyle spreads them wider, lounging back like a king. He feigns disinterest. “My heart is hardened.”</p>
<p>Stan’s hands slide north over his groin. “What else is hard?”</p>
<p>Kyle wags his brows. “Get those pants off and find out.”</p>
<p>Stan does as told, pulls him out of the new thong, and laps along the underside of his cock. Kyle pushes a hand through his hair, tugging lovingly as he strokes and licks him. Stan flicks his tongue over the tip, circles around the head. A bead of precum leaks from the tip and he looks up at Kyle’s eyes as he licks it up.</p>
<p>Kyle breathes heavily, staring back through his lashes, and when he puts pressure on Stan’s head he goes down without hesitation. Maintaining eye contact as he bobs on his cock.</p>
<p>Kyle smirks. “Damn Moses, you sure take orders like a slave.”</p>
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</div><p>Stan pulls off him with high eyebrows and a grin. “We’re so going to hell for this.”</p>
<p>“Good thing Jews don’t believe in it.” He opens his legs more. “Pharaoh didn’t tell you to stop.”</p>
<p>Stan sits up on his knees, stroking him fast as he lays against Kyle’s stomach. His other hand hooks fabric. “Pharaoh doesn’t wear a shirt, either.”</p>
<p>Kyle grins and pulls him in by the back of the neck. They tongue as Stan pushes off his jacket and grabs the lube from the hidden inside pocket, all warm from his body heat. Kyle throws off the shirt and they’re locked at the mouth again as Stan pins him to the sofa, yanking off the thong to palm his cock and balls.</p>
<p>“Spread ‘em,” He commands.</p>
<p>Kyle simpers up at him and parts his legs. Lifting one over the back of the couch and giving him an eyeful of trim red hair, a few days unshaved. “Way to go, Moses.”</p>
<p>Stan bites his lip and groans, dripping lube in his hand to slide against his hole. Kyle sucks in sharply and relaxes against his fingers as they enter him. Stan strokes in smoothly, adding more lube as he stretches him open slowly. </p>
<p>“I’m gonna make you say it,” Stan breathes, sliding in another finger.</p>
<p>Kyle’s breath hitches, clutching onto his shoulder, but he holds firm. “Fat chance.”</p>
<p>Stan’s cock juts up against his fingers, and Kyle reaches under his leg to wrap around him. Stroking Stan against his hole.</p>
<p>Stan makes one, airy laugh and shakes his head, face flushed. “You don’t want plague number ten.”</p>
<p>Kyle gasps. “Not our first born!”</p>
<p>Stan rolls his hips down against him, and squeezes lube over his dick. Kyle slathers it over him and pulls him in, hissing in as Stan glides inside. </p>
<p>“<em>Fuuuck</em>,” Kyle moans out, and clutches his leg to hold himself open.</p>
<p>Stan rocks into him halfway, easing up to speed. “Tables look pretty turned now, huh?” He thrusts in sharply, making Kyle cry out. “Hand enough?”</p>
<p>Kyle glints back competitively through wild hair. “Not a chance.”</p>
<p>Stan wraps a hand around Kyle’s cock, stroking him against the underside of his belly in time with his thrusts. He grips Kyle’s side for leverage, laying into him, and they make out again.</p>
<p>“Fuck, dude,” Kyle groans as they break, holding him by the hair at the back of his neck, slick with sweat. “Give it to me!”</p>
<p>“You have to say it,” he persists, but picks up the pace anyway. The couch frame moans under them. </p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Kyle grunts. breath hot on his face. “I’m never letting go.”</p>
<p>Stan grins and pounds him down against the cushions, stroking fast. “Then this is retribution.” He fucks into him so hard his balls slap Kyle’s ass. </p>
<p>“Fuck! Stan!” Kyle claws up his back, eyes shut and mouth gaping. He clenches around him, making Stan groan deep in his throat.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>It covers a noise from the top of the stairs, the doorknob twisting open. “Kyle, the movie ended—”</p>
<p>Stan’s head whips up and Kyle’s eyes snap open. Schwartz stands above them, startled into silence. Stan’s pulse rings in his ears. </p>
<p><em> What do you do when someone walks in on you? </em> </p>
<p>Everything halts. </p>
<p>Kyle screams.</p>
<p>“GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”</p>
<p>Stan jumps off him in a panic.</p>
<p>Schwartz stares down at him with a stunned gape. He covers his eyes. </p>
<p>“Oh jeez! I-I didn’t see that!” </p>
<p>He flees the room, slamming the door behind him.</p>
<p>Stan and Kyle sit on opposite ends of the couch, eyes huge and staring at the floor. Stan chews his lip, and glances at him.</p>
<p>Kyle hugs a pillow to his stomach. He looks traumatized. Like he might be ill. His mind is racing. With what just happened, replayed on loop. Barging in again and again and again. With breakfast tomorrow, the three of them sitting awkwardly at the table while his parents try to get them to bond over sports. And the next six days, trapped together, reliving this moment. An entire week forced to hang out with <em> him</em>. </p>
<p>Stan lays a hand on his shoulder and Kyle tenses under it. “...Dude?”</p>
<p>Kyle swallows. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t get down. “I think you should go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan drives home in the dark of night with a cold knot in his gut and the stereo off. He creeps back into the house, and Randy catches him at the base of the stairs.</p>
<p>“Hey bud,” he greets cheerily with a beer in hand. “You out with Kyle again? Or your <em> little girlfriend?</em>”</p>
<p>Stan stops, and glances despondently at his hand on the railing. “Kyle.” And in a dead voice he adds “He’s my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Randy blinks back, smile wiped from his face. Stan continues up the stairs to his room, leaving him there flabbergasted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Undone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>⚠ THIS CHAPTER HAS DICK IN IT!! ⚠<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p><strong>Bump</strong>: a small amount of cocaine, usually scooped up with a coke nail or a key and taken when the high starts to fade</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright fellas,” Butters says, slapping his hand down on the lunch table. “We gotta coordinate the best birthday for Kenny to boost his spirits.”</p>
<p>“Where is he today?” Clyde asks. </p>
<p>David glances up from his homemade lunch. “Yeah, I’m supposed to tutor him.”</p>
<p>Clyde turns from him to Jimmy to the fags, all working quietly on their lunches. Their table is half empty, and with Cartman and Kyle absent it’s especially noticeable. “Where is everyone?”</p>
<p>Craig looks bored, chin in hand while Tweek makes stick art with French fries. “Yeah, did no one tell us it was Senior Ditch Day?” He steals the arm of one figure and tosses it in his mouth.</p>
<p>Butters pinches his lips. “Kenny’s over at Eric’s place, self-medicating.”</p>
<p>Craig chews impassively. “Typical Monday.”</p>
<p>“Shiiit, lucky,” says Jimmy. “C-can I take a mental health day and smoke reefer too?”</p>
<p>“Fellas, I’m serious!” Butters says, climbing onto the bench. “<em>I</em>only came ‘cause I wanna get this sorted. He’s a real mess after gettin’ ghosted by that goth gal.” </p>
<p>Clyde shrugs one shoulder and bites his burger. “What you get for chasing mediocre pussy.”</p>
<p>Craig scoffs. “All pussy is mediocre.”</p>
<p>Butters pulls out papers from his backpack and arranges them on the table. Cute to-do lists and task sheets that need filling in. “Look, I already got it plotted out. We meet at the pond after school Friday. Stan’s having some schism with his dad so Clyde—” Butters points at him. “You’re my new kush hookup. Then there’s alcohol, food, other drinks—and we’re gonna need someone to pitch in and bring their pieces.”</p>
<p>“Oh hell yeah!” Jimmy’s pumped. “I just got a m-m-mini hookah!”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t Kenny usually get the liquor?” Craig asks. “He’s the one with the fake ID.”</p>
<p>Tweek looks up from his French fry depiction of them doing it doggy style. “Fuck alcohol.” He grins. “We’ll bring <em> party favors</em>.”</p>
<p>“I can bring soda,” says David. “We got overstock at the restaurant.”</p>
<p>Now they’re getting somewhere. Butters jots down names. “Alright, me ‘n’ Eric will cover liquor, food duty?” Butters looks up, but no one wants to foot that bill. “Come on guys, this is for Kenny.”</p>
<p>“Kyle’s the one with a <em> palate</em>,” says Tweek. “Put him on food.”</p>
<p>Clyde sniggers. “Won’t he eat everything before the party?”</p>
<p>Craig picks out another fry. “As long as he brings his cake who cares.” </p>
<p>“Where are the luh-love birds?” Asks Jimmy. “They weren’t in Spanish this morning.”</p>
<p>“Probably off tongue punching somewhere,” Craig drones.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Clyde grins stupidly. “Maybe Kyle’s ass got stuck in the doorway on the way to school!” But the chuckle from the table doesn’t have heart. It’s not as funny without Kyle there.</p>
<p>Tweek pushes the tray away to lay on his arms, sighing. “Kyle’s home for Passover.”</p>
<p>The others look around, and Clyde asks “So where’s Stan?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan can’t bring himself to go to school. He lays on his bedroom floor with his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONhfmrKJ5kE">headphones in</a>, feeling so small in Kyle’s oversized sweatshirt. His phone lays on his chest but he doesn’t look at it. He stares at the ceiling, unbearably alone, and lets the weight of the world crush him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>“<em>I'm me—me be—goddamn—I am. I can—sing and—hear me—know me. If you want to destroy my sweater—Hold this thread as I walk away.</em>”</p>
<p>Beyond the music, below the floor, he can still hear them fighting.</p>
<p>“I just don’t <em> get it, </em>Sharon! He’s a fucking Adonis! He should be out sleeping with hot chicks!”</p>
<p>“Having a gay son is not the end of the goddamn world!”</p>
<p>“But why <em> Kyle! </em> I mean—look at him, Sharon! He’s fucking <em> obese!</em>”</p>
<p>“That’s what you care about? He’s your son!”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em> I’m </em>the bad guy for thinking it’s gross!”</p>
<p>“You said it was great he was dating again!”</p>
<p>“He’s dating a fucking blimp!”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh no—it go—it gone—bye-bye. Bye. Who I—I think—I sink—and I die!</em>” </p>
<p>Stan ups the volume on his phone until it drowns out all other sounds. Shuts his eyes and feels like everything’s been stripped away.</p>
<p>“<em>If you want to destroy my sweater—Hold this thread as I walk away. As I walk away! Watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked. Lying on the floor, lying on the floor, I've come undone!</em>”</p>
<p>He tilts his phone up to stare at Kyle’s contact. No new messages. His thumb hovers over the text Stan sent him hours ago, and he holds in a hard breath. </p>
<p>Kyle still hasn’t replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the Broflovski house cousin Kyle has the courtesy to keep his distance. The adults don’t seem to notice the tension hanging over the breakfast table, and when Gerald asks where Stan is Kyle just grumbles “He had to go.” He stands, taking his plate up to his room. “My stomach hurts.”</p>
<p>Sheila comes knocking on Kyle’s door around lunch time with a matzo sandwich.</p>
<p>“We’re going for a hike, Kyle. You should come. You could use the exercise.”</p>
<p>He says nothing. Lays in bed turned away from her, hugging Rivers Smith.</p>
<p>“You have to come out and engage some time,” she says sternly. “This isn’t about your cousin, is it?”</p>
<p>Kyle shuts his eyes and groans.</p>
<p>Sheila folds an arm. “Your father told you our rule, Stan can’t come back unless you—”</p>
<p>“Stan’s not coming back!” He snaps, scowling into his pillow. “I’ve got a <em> wicked stomachache.</em>”</p>
<p>Sheila stands there a moment. “Well, bubbe, if you’re still not feeling well, I’ll just leave this here for you.” She sets the food on the edge of his desk. “Come down when you’re better. Everyone misses seeing you.”</p>
<p>She shuts the door behind her. Kyle waits until he hears the front door slam, and then the distant chatter of the Broflovskis and the Schwartzes as they walk down the driveway. Their voices fade and he gets up, passes the plate, and goes down to the pantry. Comes back with a big bag of chips and a jar of peanut butter. He shuts off his light, grabs the sandwich, and takes it all back to his bed. Kyle watches the ray of light between his curtains crawl across the ceiling as he eats, and hopes they never come back.</p>
<p>They do eventually, and leave well enough alone. Sounds of cheery chatter rise up from the dinner table below, and Kyle can hear his cousin ranting lively about something. Like an extra spit in the face. He just goes on like nothing’s fucking wrong. Fat and gay and so fucking <em> obvious</em>. Kyle runs through every moment since Saturday back in his mind. The looks he made at Stan. The interest in him. The touch of his arm. The blatant fucking <em> disregard for privacy</em>.</p>
<p>Night falls and there’s another knock at his door. “Um, cousin Kyle? I-I have to go to bed or else I’ll throw off my circadian cycle and I have sleep apnea.”</p>
<p>Kyle shoves past him out into the hall, taking Rivers with him. He doesn’t stop to brush his teeth, just stomps down to the basement. His phone sits on the arm of the couch. He takes it with him to the sleeping bag and settles in for more hours of laying awake, ruminating. </p>
<p>He unlocks the phone. One new message.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">SBF 🐬💙</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:14 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text">Are you still coming to my game tomorrow?</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle gapes, and his eyes feel inexplicably wet. Stan.</p>
<p>He types a reply.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">SBF 🐬💙</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:14 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text">Are you still coming to my game tomorrow?</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 10:48 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply">Always</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>At the Cartman residence the lights are off but for the master bathroom. It used to be Liane’s, until Cartman made her switch rooms with him. Now he stands before the mirror, popping off the spiked bracelets and collar Kenny slept in and tossing them aside. Neither speak a word. Cartman turns him around to yank off that tight leather jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head. Kenny watches the floor, limp arms flopping back to his sides as Cartman shucks his pants off him and the boxers underneath.</p>
<p>The tub is a huge jacuzzi, and takes ages to fill. Cartman grabs his makeup box and pulls up a stool to the edge while Kenny sits in the basin, watching the faucet gush. Cartman unscrews his jar of cold cream and scoops some out with his sausage fingers, smearing it over his face. Kenny pinches one eye shut as chilly cream wipes away the remains of ruined makeup. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>He sits with the stagnant water up to his nose, hand hanging over the lip of the tub so Cartman can wipe his nails clean with polish remover. Kenny sinks deeper and shuts his eyes when he’s done, drowning out the sound of Cartman rummaging through the medicine cabinet. </p>
<p>Mr. Kitty paces around their legs as Cartman towels him dry, and follows them back out into the master bedroom. Kenny stares vapidly as she hops onto the bed, then everything is blacked out by the huge T-shirt pulled over his head. </p>
<p>Cartman leaves him to check the hall bath. On the bottom shelf behind the pop-out mirror is Liane’s Xanax. He rattles the bottle and grabs the cup off the counter, then comes back to find Kenny sitting on the far end of the bed, staring at his phone while Mr. Kitty rubs against him. Cartman steps over, pulls it out of his hands, and pushes a pill into his palm instead. Kenny swallows it without a word. He lays against the headboard of the king bed nursing the glass of water while Cartman sits on the edge, deleting all of Henrietta’s texts.</p>
<p>The glass rests empty on the nightstand. Kenny hunkers down into the sheets, pillow hugged to his cheek. Cartman pulls the comforter up over his shoulder and smooths it down. Before he goes Kenny glances up at him with red-rimmed eyes.</p>
<p>His voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Cartman watches him fade. When it finally looks like he's asleep he sighs, reaches for the bedside lamp, and flicks it off.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning when Stan comes downstairs with his backpack and duffel bag the kitchen is deathly silent. His lunch sits on the counter like always. His mom stands at the sink, but there are no dishes to wash. Randy’s at the table having a beer for breakfast. For once it looks like a chore for him to drink it. Stan sweeps silently through the kitchen and makes just a passing glance at him. The look back is unfamiliar, like he’s some strange bacteria in a petri dish. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan walks into third period Spanish and Cartman’s quick to ask “How was your extra day at the deli?”</p>
<p>Clyde sniggers and Jimmy gives a polite laugh, but everyone else is too somber. Stan takes his seat, and beside him Kenny’s back to his usual orange, the nail polish scrubbed clean. Somehow he looks more the part than before, dull eyes staring at the whiteboard ahead.</p>
<p>“Want a cigarette?” He asks, holding out his pack for Stan. There’s just a few left. “I’m going cold turkey.”</p>
<p>Stan goes ahead and takes one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smokes it at lunch, if only to get away from the gang. Stan sits along the back of the school, resting his head against the wall of the US History classroom. The windows are dark, no sound from within. It’s debate club day, and this is the usual meeting spot, but without Kyle there’s a lack of interest among members. This week’s session canceled. </p>
<p>Stan sucks the cigarette in solitude, arms up on his knees, staring vapidly into the wild blue yonder. Footsteps approach, and he doesn’t even bother to see who.</p>
<p>“And just like that, John freaking Elway goes joth.”</p>
<p>He glances over through the corner of his eye at Henrietta, only to look away. “Wrong sport.”</p>
<p>“Do I look like I care about sports?” She sits along the wall with him, holding her own cigarette between her lips as she flicks open a silver lighter, strikes a flame and takes a deep drag. “You look like your heart’s been stomped in two. Going to write an angsty poem, Raven?”</p>
<p>He scoffs, “Fuck off.”</p>
<p>“Did he spit in your face?” She says, like she’s asking for the most depraved details of their sex life. “Crush your pathetic feelings into dust?”</p>
<p>He makes a disgusted grimace. "No, actually. Relationships are a little more complicated than that.”</p>
<p>She blows a big plume of smoke over him. “And that’s why you’re hiding back here like an emo pussy.”</p>
<p>He looks away to suck his cigarette. “You know, you and your cronies don’t <em> own </em> mourning.”</p>
<p>“We owned The Cure,” she says, “before you posers stole that too.”</p>
<p>Stan stares down at his smoldering cigarette. “Why don’t you just call Kenny back.” She makes one harsh laugh, and Stan whips around to her. “He’s really serious about you.”</p>
<p>Henrietta sucks her cigarette, holds it in. “I can’t go <em> out </em> with a conformist.” She exhales with a smooth air of vanity. “I’m a goth. He’s a blond Zac Efron. Black nail polish and guyliner doesn’t change that.”</p>
<p>Stan glares with stunned disgust. “You just let people’s perceptions dictate who you date?”</p>
<p>She snorts. “Like you'd understand, your boyfriend is a bigger party douche than you. You're two of a kind.”</p>
<p>Stan blinks back as she turns to exhale another cloud of smoke, feeling somehow flattered and insulted in tandem. He grinds out his cigarette and grabs his bag, ditching her. “Keep conforming to everyone’s expectations.”</p>
<p>She watches him go and returns the butt to her lips. “Ouch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kyle tears through his closet, throwing shoes and jackets out onto the floor behind him. Fuck—where is it?! He rips open his dresser drawers to rifle though again, and shirts spill over onto the floor. Where the fuck could it be! He bites his finger and runs for the hall closet, pushing apart the rack to check every hook. There’s no way he could have lost it, he left it right fucking there—folded in the back of his closet where no one would find it.</p>
<p>“Bubbe, is everything alright?” Kyle’s mom asks as he races down the stairs to the basement. Maybe he wore it down there and forgot?</p>
<p>Kyle drags boxes off the shelf under the stairs and pulls blankets out of them, dumping out the SEDER box to shift through the costume pieces. He can’t show up to Stan’s game <em> not wearing it</em>. </p>
<p>“Kyle, what are you looking for?” Sheila demands.</p>
<p>“A jacket!” He says frantically, pulling cushions off the couch. “A red and white letterman jacket—that says Marsh on the back!” He leaves the basement a chaotic mess to run back upstairs and check his room again. “I have to bring it to Stan’s game tonight!”</p>
<p>He makes a beeline for the closet. He’s never hidden it anywhere else, it couldn’t have moved unless—</p>
<p>Kyle whips his head up in distressed rage, and turns back to his mother, standing in the doorway. “Where’s Kyle!”</p>
<p>“He’s out in the backyard with your father,” she says calmly. “Relax, Kyle, the jacket is fine. I sent it to the dry cleaners.”</p>
<p>“You—” he pants hard and makes a perplexed squint. “What?”</p>
<p>“I found it wadded up in the back or your closet—” Oh god. “It’ll be ready in a few days. You can bring it to Stanley then.”</p>
<p>Kyle puts an exasperated hand to his face. Is nothing in this house private? “You went through my room...” He breathes incredulously. </p>
<p>Fuck this. Kyle snatches another jacket off the floor and Sheila continues, “If you’re going to that baseball game tonight take your cousin with you.”</p>
<p>Kyle snaps around to her, looking hurt and outraged. “You <em> can’t </em>be serious!”</p>
<p>“It’s the only sport he likes, he really wants to see it.”</p>
<p>Kyle waves his arms in refusal, shaking his head. “No! No fucking way!”</p>
<p>She folds her arms. “Kyle, I told you, if you and Stan—”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t part of the fucking deal!” He shouts, devastated. “You can’t do this to me!”</p>
<p>Sheila sighs. “Listen, Kyle, your cousin and I had a talk. He's had a really hard time dating because of his weight. You of all people should know how that feels! Imagine being gay on top of that." </p>
<p>Kyle turns away to shove his arms in his other jacket. He’s not sticking around for another word of this. “Oh yeah, I wouldn’t have any idea about <em> that!” </em></p>
<p>“I know it's awkward, and I promised I wouldn't tell but—he really likes your friend Stan."</p>
<p>He knew it. He fucking KNEW IT. </p>
<p>Kyle can’t breathe, he’s so fucking angry. “So what!” He shrieks back at her. “You want me to hook them up?! Do you know how sick that is!”</p>
<p>“I think it would be a good idea for him to be around another gay kid who isn't put off by weight.” She says, not sure where this is all coming from. “Who knows, Stanley might really like him!" </p>
<p>Kyle blows up. “STAN’S ALREADY DATING A FAT FUCK!” He screams, jabbing his thumb into his chest. “HE ALREADY HAS A FAT FUCKING BOYFRIEND!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Sheila startles back, and he shoves past her into the hall. Stomps thunderously down the stairs, to the basement. </p>
<p>“Kyle!” She calls after him. “Kyle!”</p>
<p>He grabs Rivers, and then he’s gone, slamming the front door behind him as hard as he can.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle speed walks down the sidewalk, boots still untied. Wipes his eye with a black fin. He pulls out his phone, Stan’s photo illuminating his lock screen, and opens to his texts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miles away at the high school, Stan trudges into the dugout as they enter the second inning. The guys follow, groaning about the game. They only just started playing and they’re already down by four.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m just saying, if you’re gonna keep letting them steal second, maybe you shouldn’t play infield,” first baseman Kevin says to Scott.</p>
<p>“You had two runnerth on your plate! How ith that my fault?”</p>
<p>“Stan never threw me the ball!”</p>
<p>Craig plops onto the bench, looking bored, and pulls out his phone. “Maybe if he pitched in their strike zones we wouldn’t have so many people walking to first.” </p>
<p>Stan sits hunched on the far end, and glances into the corner to block them out. He knows he’s playing lousy, he just doesn’t care. Every time Bradley calls a pitch, crouched behind home plate, Stan’s eyes are up scanning the stands. Searching for red.</p>
<p>Across the bench they keep on bickering. Left fielder David asks “Hey Tucker, would it kill you to act like you give a shit tonight?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t look up from his texts. “Why? I’m getting laid after this either way.”</p>
<p>Stan’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and cups it against his stomach so the others don’t see him look, and checks the message.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Kyle 💕</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 5:23 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">My parents know</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Stan stares at the message a minute, not sure what to even say. He hunkers against the wall, hugging Kyle’s text to his chest. Finally he types one back.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Kyle 💕</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 5:23 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">My parents know</span><br/>
<span class="breply">Mine too</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>It’s deep blue twilight by the time Kyle makes it there, and the game’s well underway. The stands are emptier than usual, few parents able to make it down from Greeley and not many more representing South Park. Early season, mid-week game. Not very exciting. Kyle finds a spot on the bleachers all by himself and sits, hugging Rivers in his lap.</p>
<p>It’s the middle of the fourth inning, 6-0 Greeley. South Park is up to bat. Kyle can’t spot Stan on the diamond, and the dugout is hidden from view. He waits, watching the slow game drag on.</p>
<p>“Hey. Nice whale.”</p>
<p>Kyle looks over. Tweek stands on the bleachers beside him, looking astonishingly skinny in Craig’s letterman jacket.</p>
<p>Kyle huffs and looks elsewhere. “It’s a dolphin.”</p>
<p>Tweek grins mockingly. “I was talking to the dolphin.”</p>
<p>Kyle sighs heavily. </p>
<p>Tweek sits next to him and leans on his arm. “Everyone misses your fat ass.”</p>
<p>“I’d come back to school tomorrow if I could.” He pets the soft, synthetic hide of the orca. “God, I hate this holiday.”</p>
<p>“You can’t just—” Tweek wraps around his large upper arm. “—come to work?”</p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes. “You know there’s other people who work at the library?”</p>
<p>Tweek’s grip constricts. “But you’ve got the best shelf there.” He grins. “They should stack books on you.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s quiet a minute, watching TUCKER 04 crack a ball right at the Greeley shortstop. He hurls it to first base, and it’s another out.</p>
<p>Kyle opens his mouth, takes a moment, and asks. “Did you really fuck Craig in front of his father?”</p>
<p>Tweek grins sinisterly. “He came so hard.” His long nail drags over Kyle’s sleeve. “Why? You want me to fuck him in front of you too?”</p>
<p>“Pass.”</p>
<p>David goes up to bat and strikes out. They enter the fifth inning, and Tweek turns to him. “I gotta bump. Catch you around.” He gives Kyle a kiss on the cheek and slides out from under his arm. Walks off with his hands in the jacket pockets.</p>
<p>Kyle sighs and watches the South Park Cows take the field. MARSH 05 is the last out of the dugout. He steps up to the mound, not looking optimistic. This game has been totally off, like there’s some bad juju hanging over the team. No one wants to be here, least of all him.</p>
<p>Stan palms the ball, staring down the batter. He doesn’t make a move, there doesn’t seem to be a point. He looks up at the stands and sees Kyle sitting there behind home plate, slumped forward with Rivers to his chest. He looks morose, contemplative. They look at each other from across the diamond, through the chain links. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They lose the game. The stands clear swiftly, parents leaving in a hurry to get home and start dinner. The sky is dark, only harsh floodlights illuminate the empty field. Kyle waits with a foot kicked up against the front bumper of Stan’s truck, watching the gym doors. One opens, and Stan emerges with his duffle bag. He didn’t even take the time to change. </p>
<p>Kyle gets up from the truck and Stan spots him. He drops the bag, Kyle ditches Rivers on the hood, and they dash to each other. Throw their arms around each other under the lone parking lot light post and squeeze tight in that familiar embrace. Kyle presses his nose into Stan’s neck, inhaling the musky odor of sweat. Stan’s face is buried in his hair, just focusing on the texture of it. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>They kiss desperately. No tongue. Kyle cups Stan’s jaw and Stan wraps around his middle as tight as Kyle’s size allows. Hands squeezing, pulling in to feel all of him. The kiss breaks and they hold each other tight, heads on shoulders.</p>
<p>Kyle pets up his back and says “I don’t want to go home.”</p>
<p>Stan’s nose rubs his shirt collar. “Me neither.”</p>
<p>So they get in the truck, throw their things in the back, and drive out of town. The road is dark, no street lamps. Kyle leans on the passenger side door, looking out his window at the black tops of pines as they pass. The night sky beyond that. </p>
<p>The stereo softly plays one of their burned discs, sharpied over with ‘Slow Songs’ in Stan’s blocky handwriting.</p>
<p>“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzYmIOSVPwo"><em>Kiss me goodbye, pushing out before I sleep. Can't you see I try? Swimming the same deep water as you is hard. The shallow drowned, lose less than we. The strangest twist upon your lips—And we shall be together. And we shall be together.</em></a>”</p>
<p>The road winds along the mountains, illuminated by Stan’s high beams, further and further out of town. Retracing to the lake cabin, then beyond that. They wish they could drive forever. Never come back.</p>
<p>Stan pulls off the road onto a gravel pullout and shuts off the engine. He climbs over the center console and they put down the back of Kyle’s seat. For a while they just lay together, Kyle tracing circles up Stan’s arm as he ghosts fingers over him.</p>
<p>“Our families are so fucked, dude,” Kyle says.</p>
<p>Stan sighs in. “I really like your family.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Kyle’s eyes are shut, focusing on the feeling of him. “They really like you.”</p>
<p>“They’re so… non-judgmental.”</p>
<p>Kyle scoffs. “To your face. You don’t think <em> everyone </em> in there is thinking ‘check out Beauty and the Beast, how did <em> that </em> happen?’”</p>
<p>Stan’s mouth clicks shut. The Broflovskis may be more subtle, but it sounds real fucking familiar. “They really supported your cousin—when he stole our thunder.”</p>
<p>Kyle cracks his eyes, frowning in the dark. “He has a crush on you.”</p>
<p>Stan grimaces. He squeezes into Kyle, looking him in the face. “I would never be interested in him.”</p>
<p>“I know.” They lay their foreheads together. Kyle inhales deep, lets the rage leave with his exhale. “I screamed at my mom. She wanted me to bring him to your game.” Stan makes a face. “Right? ...I totally outed us.”</p>
<p>“What did she say?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I screamed you were my boyfriend and just got the fuck out of there.” He thinks about his phone in his pants pocket, turned off to escape confrontation. “She’s probably really pissed.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. She loves you.”</p>
<p>Kyle snorts. “Doesn’t mean she won’t flip her fucking lid at me.”</p>
<p>Stan stares at the dark folds of their clothes. Smooths them with his hand. “My parents had a massive fight. It went on for hours.”</p>
<p>Kyle frowns. “<em>Christ</em>, dude.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, breath hot on Kyle’s cheek. “My dad said heinous shit about us. About <em> you</em>.”</p>
<p>Kyle gives him a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t care what people say about me.”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>Kyle glances back up and Stan’s staring at him sternly. Gaze firm. Kyle looks back with a slight gape. Stan rolls onto him, throwing a leg over and propping his hands on either side of Kyle’s face.</p>
<p>“It pisses me off so fucking much,” he says. “All the comments, the fucking <em> shock</em>—You’re the hottest person I know. We do everything together, we like all the same shit, I’ve loved you my whole fucking life. Why is it such a surprise that we’re together?”</p>
<p>Kyle’s eyebrows are high in his bangs. His head’s stuck in the middle of Stan’s words, but he only has a reply for the end. “You’re slim, I’m fat,” he says, like looking at the sky and calling it blue. Unambiguous. Unremarkable. “That’s all people see.”</p>
<p>“No,” Stan asserts.</p>
<p>Kyle cocks a grin. “No?”</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes, laying into Kyle. Getting into his comfortable embrace. “Yes,” he corrects, wrapping around his soft excess. “But it’s not—That’s not <em> it,</em>” he insists. “You fucking <em> get me.</em>”</p>
<p>Kyle’s hugging him in too. “I know. There’s no one else like you. You know all my secrets, you put up with my bullshit—”</p>
<p>Stan snorts. “Hardly.”</p>
<p>Kyle constricts him. “I mean it, dude. You just—understand. When I blow a fucking fuse who sticks by me? All the other guys jump out of the way like it’s above their pay grade.” He looks Stan in the face. “You take the bad with the good.”</p>
<p>“It’s not hard,” Stan says. “I love being pissed off at the world with you. We’re an unstoppable team.” Kyle chuckles and Stan gulps. He bites his lip, watching Kyle’s face in the near-dark, and when the laugh fades he whispers “I’m in love with you.”</p>
<p>Kyle smiles, squeezing Stan’s shoulder. “I know. I’m—”</p>
<p>“No, I mean—” Stan shakes his head, needing to get it out. “I know I said it before, in the cabin, but that was before all of this. Before we were together. Kyle—” He pinches his mouth into a line, and says with sincerity, “I <em> love </em> being with you. I don’t want it to ever stop.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s silent, listening in awe.</p>
<p>“I don’t care what anyone says about us—just thinking about leaving Sunday night without you, and everything so fucked up—hurt worse than anything my dad could ever say. I love just getting to hang out with you. I love our stupid fucking family, and our whole dynamic—” Stan cuts himself off before he gets emotional. </p>
<p>Kyle thumbs over his cheek. “I love it too, dude. I love <em> you </em> too—Even if it hasn’t been that long, <em> I’ve </em>been in love with you so much longer.” They hold their faces together, not kissing, but his lips brush the corner of Stan’s mouth. “I love what we’ve built together.”</p>
<p>Stan shuts his eyes. “God, I used to love sneaking around with you, like it was a fun game to not get caught. For the first time it actually feels like we’re hiding.”</p>
<p>“It won’t be forever,” says Kyle. “In California. Just living together.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it…” Stan mutters.</p>
<p>“Waking up together…”</p>
<p>“Coordinating chores?”</p>
<p>Kyle grins. “I’ll cook, you clean?”</p>
<p>Stan hums. “How about you teach me how to cook and we clean together?”</p>
<p>“That’s gonna be tough with classes,” Kyle says, hugging him in again.</p>
<p>“We’ll have to find Rivers a sitter.”</p>
<p>Kyle snickers. “God, we sound like we’re married.”</p>
<p>“We should get married.”</p>
<p>Kyle spits out a single laugh. “We’ve been dating a month.”</p>
<p>Stan raises his head to look back at him, to show him he’s serious. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”</p>
<p>Kyle rolls his eyes, but squeezes Stan’s sides. “Yeah, when we’re twenty-five.”</p>
<p>Stan settles back against him, brushing hair back from Kyle’s face and pressing his lips to his. They lay there a minute in the dark truck cab, kissing. Stan pulls back an inch to say “I can wait that long.”</p>
<p>Kyle blows his bangs up with a puff of air. They lace the fingers of one hand. “We can be… engaged to be engaged.”</p>
<p>Stan smiles, going in again. “You have to fuck me to make it official,” he says against his lips.</p>
<p>When Kyle pulls back he’s grinning. “I can do that.”</p>
<p>They kiss passionately as Stan grinds down against Kyle’s belly, filling out his pants. Kyle pulls up his shirt, pressing kisses to his neck and down his chest. He palms Stan through his jeans, making him moan in Kyle’s ear and roll into his hand. </p>
<p>“Show me that thong,” Stan groans, hands down the back of Kyle’s jeans, grabbing two handfuls of ass. </p>
<p>Kyle smirks back, squeezing Stan’s too. “Get the lube and I will.”</p>
<p>He pops open the glove box, and it’s right where they left it. When Stan turns back Kyle’s laid the hemp blanket across his seat to keep it clean. He kneels on it, hands gripping the headrest of the backseat. He grins back roguishly as he wags his ass, then tugs down his jeans with painful slowness, letting it heap out. </p>
<p>Tonight it’s black straps, disappearing between his cheeks. Stan cups his ass and pulls it down with his teeth. He worms a hand between Kyle’s thighs to palm his cock and balls, tug at him slowly. Stan spreads his cheeks, revealing his pert little hole, and thumbs over it in a circle. Stan works his mouth and spits before burying his face to lap it up, tongue over his sensitive hole. </p>
<p>Kyle moans, rolling forward into his hand and back against his mouth. “<em>Fuck </em>, Stan—your tongue—”</p>
<p>He gets more vigorous, stroking Kyle until he’s throbbing hard and dribbling on the blanket. Stan pulls back for air, and slaps his ass hard.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” Kyle hugs the headrest and glances back at him. “Again.”</p>
<p>Stan reels his hand back and strikes him, ass rippling from the force. Kyle yelps, and before he has a chance to demand another Stan spanks him again. Pale ass blooming pink. Stan switches hands, cranking Kyle’s cock in his left and slapping him with the right—All the strength of his pitching arm.</p>
<p>“Fuck—” Kyle rasps for breath, arms weak around the headrest as he pants against the seat. Stan’s hand connects again and he cries out. “Fuck! If you keep at it—<em>SHIT! </em>” He shouts at the sting of his palm. Stan’s hand rubs circles to sooth him, then winds up for another. “I’m gonna fuck your ass up for this!”</p>
<p>Stan’s having a time, watching how his skin ripples from the force. The way Kyle tenses, panting against the seat while his massive ass jiggles. Stan cock’s straining his pants, wet spot soaked through the fabric. He strikes him so hard his hand hurts. “I’m not stopping till you’re red at both ends.”</p>
<p>Kyle looks back at him, face plenty flushed already. His lip is shiny wet as he breathes heavily. “You’re trying to provoke me! You wanna get choked out again?”</p>
<p>Kyle laying into him, squeezing the life out of him until there’s nothing but the feeling of hard cock slamming into him? Stan’s dick jumps in his pants. Kyle’s ass is painted pink in the shape of his hand, and he gives it one last spank across both, dangerously low.</p>
<p>“FUCK! Oh you’re gonna get it!”</p>
<p>Kyle jumps him and they wrestle in the seat. Stan’s no match, Kyle pins him to the truck dashboard and crashes their mouths together. His roaming hand pushes up Stan’s uniform shirt, exposing the smooth skin of his stomach and his defined chest. Stan moans, helps him pull off the top before yanking up Kyle’s. Stan bites and sucks along his sternum as they kick off their pants.</p>
<p>Kyle holds his hips to stop him from sliding ass first into the foot space, and Stan grabs his thighs for support. The thong’s still there, stretched halfway down, and Stan hooks them.</p>
<p>“You want it?” Kyle asks. He nods vigorously. Whatever Kyle means, he wants all of it. Kyle smirks and moves to slip off the thong. “Open up.”</p>
<p>Stan does as told, tongue out and waiting, and Kyle stuffs it in. He moans on the gag, tasting the salt of sweat and musk. </p>
<p>His cock’s throbbing under his boxer briefs. Kyle shucks them off, letting it swing free. Kyle strokes him against his stomach as he sucks Stan’s neck, holding them flush so he doesn’t slip down. Stan digs nails in his back, spit soaking through the thong as he moans. He can feel Kyle’s cock stiff against his ass and it just makes him swell harder.</p>
<p>“Fuck dude, you’re so big tonight,” Kyle murmurs against his jaw. He pulls back to spit in his hand for added lubrication, and strokes his thumb over the bright red head. </p>
<p>Enough teasing. Stan drops his head back against the dashboard and groans, rolling his hips against Kyle. It’s an obvious enough hint. Kyle’s hand feels along the seat for the tube of lube and snaps open the lid. </p>
<p>Stan tenses as the cold jelly slicks between his cheeks. “<em>Mmmngh!</em>” He moans, and looks down to watch Kyle scoot back to licks up his cock as he fingers his ass. </p>
<p>Kyle’s staring back, tongue flicking over his tip before taking Stan in his mouth. His fingering hand palms his heavy balls as he slowly laps around the head, and Stan has to drop his head back on the dash, chest heaving.</p>
<p>He can barely squint his eyes open, and sees faint stars above the trees through the windshield. Kyle sucks down his shaft, pumping his cock back into his throat, and Stan clenches his eyes shut. Everything black. Nothing else exists. Just Kyle’s hot mouth around him and wet fingers scissoring deep.</p>
<p>It’s hard to suck Stan off. He’s so much bigger than usual, throbbing veins standing out along his hardon. Kyle’s jaw is already sore trying to fit him, but he perseveres. Forcing Stan in as until he’s gagging. He wants to feel the wiry hair around the base of his cock on his face, and bobs his head lower until it tickles his nose. Precum drizzles down the back of his throat, Kyle’s throat closes around him as he gulps it down.</p>
<p>“<em>Mmmmmck!</em>” Stan cires, pressing up into his mouth. He pants heavily, face and chest red. Good indication he’s ready. </p>
<p>Kyle pops his mouth off and works his jaw left and right. Squirts more lube onto his palm to add a third finger. Stan squirms on his hand, foot pushing back on the center console to open himself up. </p>
<p>Kyle bites up Stan’s stomach, across his broad chest, sucking skin between his lips to leave a trail of bites. He pulls him in by the hips to pin Stan between thighs and gut, hand lost between them. Kyle kisses his collarbone. Nips under his Adam’s apple. Earns a guttural moan when he turns his head to bite and suck his trachea.</p>
<p>Stan rocks his hips impatiently, so Kyle presses lips to the underside of his jaw, his chin, where spit runs out the corner of his mouth. Stan’s soaked through the thong with saliva, and Kyle pulls it from his mouth with his teeth, lets it drop so they can kiss together, tongue sliding along his. </p>
<p>Kyle’s cock rubs against his fingers, lube slicking over both. He pulls his hand to one side and Stan hisses into his mouth as he pushes inside. Kyle grabs a handful of dark hair at the back of his neck, hip gripped in the other to help glide in. For a minute they just pant together, bangs sticking to each other’s foreheads. Stan slides his hands around to grip the rolls along his back, and then Kyle’s thrusting into him, fucking him against the dashboard so hard his head bumps the windshield. </p>
<p>Stan gasps and thrusts back against him, face buried in Kyle’s shoulder. The air inside the truck has gone cold, but they’re on fire, sweat-plastered together as they fuck. Kyle slams into him with force enough to take his breath away and Stan lets out an unrestrained cry—no need to hold back here. “<em>Fuck! </em> God, you’re so <em> big!</em>”</p>
<p>Kyle shuts him up with a kiss and a hand on his neck, pressing lightly. Warning of what’s to come. </p>
<p>“Shit, you feel good,” Kyle groans, other holding Stan steady as he bucks into him.</p>
<p>“Just for you,” he promises, tugging handfuls of wild hair. </p>
<p>“Fucking right.” Kyle thrusts in sharply, making him gasp and groan. “You’re mine.”</p>
<p>“I’m yours,” Stan says, yanking him hard into a kiss. They make out sloppily. Breathe in each others’ embrace. “Fuck me down against the seat,” Stan begs into his mouth.</p>
<p>Kyle pulls back with a wicked grin. “You want me to crush you?”</p>
<p>He pants hard, hugging him tight. “I wanna feel your full weight.”</p>
<p>They switch up positions, Stan lays back against Kyle’s seat, and slides his arms languidly over his head to grip the headrest. Eyes saying <em> take what’s yours. </em> He looks exquisite in the low light, like he’s sculpted of marble.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle’s hand caresses up his chest as he pushes his thigh open. Stan simpers up at him and shuts his eyes to moan as Kyle pushes in again.</p>
<p>“Fuck you’re tight,” Kyle groans, cock throbbing inside him. </p>
<p>Stan’s hands slide over the sides of Kyle’s belly. He locks his legs around him and pull him in again, embracing tight as Kyle rolls into him with gravity’s help. Stan throws his head back on the seat, rasping breath forced out of him. Kyle thrusts in sharply, compressing down and hitting something deep in him. Stan grabs his ass and screams out.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck! Ahhh—Fuck! </em> Right there!”</p>
<p>Kyle keeps on the spot, feeling Stan pulse around him. His cock’s rubbing heat against the soft underside of his belly.</p>
<p>“Turn over,” Kyle orders mid-thrust. “You’re getting choked.”</p>
<p>Stan doesn’t need to be told twice. Kyle sits back and he rolls onto his stomach, dick dribbling precum on the blanket. Kyle grabs his firm ass and squeezes as he fucks into him again. He lays over Stan and hooks an arm around his neck in a stranglehold, and squeezes. </p>
<p>Stan’s moans are constricted to a hiss. He clenches his eyes shut, gaping breathlessly, and clutches his arm as Kyle fucks him hard. Kyle’s laying into him full force, pounding him against the seat. Stan can tell he’s close; thrusts quick and deep, words dissolved into husky groans. He claws his arm to signal for air, and Kyle lets up long enough for him to gasp in sharply before squeezing his windpipe again.</p>
<p>“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Kyle warns, plowing into him so hard the truck rocks. “Beg me for it.”</p>
<p>Stan digs nails into his skin and rasps. “Fuck! Kyle—<em>Please! </em>I need your cum!”</p>
<p>Kyle groans, face against the back of Stan’s neck, slick with sweat. He can feel it coming up, he’s losing his mind to orgasm. “I’m gonna fuck you like this every morning, first thing,” he moans. “Wake you up with my dick in your ass.”</p>
<p>A high whine squeezes out Stan’s throat as he pushes back against him. These are the final thrusts, hard and quick. Kyle holds in him, arm constricting his throat and dick twitching as he comes. Stan’s mouth gapes in a choked scream.</p>
<p>Kyle grits his teeth and breaks the hold to yank his hips back, wanting to feel him as deep as possible. Stan collapses against the seat, coughing as the rest fills him.</p>
<p>Kyle rubs his throat in apology. “God, you’re so perfect,” he moans, kissing his ear.</p>
<p>Stan pants heavily and turns so they can kiss again, and Kyle lets him roll over so they can make out properly. </p>
<p>Stan’s cock is still painfully hard against him, ass leaking cum on the blanket. When they break he’s grinning. “Every morning?” </p>
<p>Kyle smirks back. “So you can fuck me every night.”</p>
<p>Stan cups his jaw and pulls him back in, lets his hands roam down over Kyle’s curves to his ass. “Let’s start tonight,” he says, grasping two handfuls.</p>
<p>Kyle chuckles, curl of red hair falling in Stan’s face. “I want that—” He kisses Stan again. “My back is killing me.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be gentle.”</p>
<p>So they switch places. Kyle lays himself stomach down on the seat, hugging the back. Stan slings a leg over to sit up on the backs of his thighs and massages him. </p>
<p>Kyle moans, feeling palms press into his shoulder blades and rub out his knots. Stan rolls his thumbs up the back of his neck, making Kyle nuzzles his face in the headrest. He works down his spine, massaging muscle through his thick fat and kissing after his hands. </p>
<p>“<em>Mmm… </em> Lower,” Kyle moans, so Stan obliges, digging palms into the hollow of his lumbar spine. Kyle smiles into the blanket and melts under his hands. “<em>Lower.</em>”</p>
<p>Stan laughs, kneading where back curves out into ass. “You want me to massage your butt?”</p>
<p>Kyle shifts his hips, trying to get a better feel of Stan’s cock pressing between his cheeks, and Stan takes it as a yes. He caresses the pink handprint across his ass, cups the underside and squeezes so it spills out between his fingers.</p>
<p>“Fuck, I love how you don’t even fit in my hands,” Stan groans, spreading him open and thumbing over his hole.</p>
<p>“You’re such an ass man,” Kyle teases as Stan rubs his cock lazily along his crack. Stan grins testily and slaps him over his handprint. “<em>Shit!</em>”</p>
<p>The tube of lube is nearly empty. Stan has to work for that last dollop, and strokes it into Kyle’s ass with his fingers. He’s gonna need it. Stan hasn’t been this hard for a while, their brief separation helping it build back up. He’s dribbling steadily, and can already tell it’s going to be a quick ride. </p>
<p>Stan scissors in, easing Kyle into it before his other hand helps bury his dick in ass. Kyle lets go a whine and claws the seat as he slides in. Stan rocks into him slowly, rhythmically. making the moment last. He lays himself over Kyle, hugging around his middle, and holds his tummy as he rolls his hips. </p>
<p>“How’s this?” He asks, kissing his shoulder.</p>
<p>Kyle hums and relaxes. “You’re so sweet.”</p>
<p>Stan kisses the turn of his jaw. “I can go hard.”</p>
<p>“No, this is good,” Kyle shuts his eyes, just focusing on the feeling of him. Their closeness. “Just like this.”</p>
<p>They make love slowly, with purpose. Breathe together and rock the truck. Kyle’s gone hard again under him, and lets Stan’s motion rub himself against the blanket. Stan huffs in his ear and adjusts his legs to speed up. Pulls out to slam into him.</p>
<p>“God, fuck—you’re so <em> sexy</em>,” he groans between Kyle’s moans, forced out between his bitten lip. Stan’s coming up to it, balls slapping his ass. “You <em> have </em> to marry me.”</p>
<p>Kyle huffs one airy laugh, but nods against the headrest. “Make me a Marsh.”</p>
<p>“No way,” Stan grips him tight to buck in. “I’m a Broflovski.”</p>
<p>Kyle moans out and presses back against him. “We’ll hyphenate, just—<em>Fuck! </em> ” Stan thrusts deep into him, making him shout. “<em>Come in me!</em>”</p>
<p>Stan’s close enough. He loses himself in Kyle’s hair, hugging him tight as he orgasms. “Fuck, <em> Kyle</em>—” he mutters, melting against his back. “I love you.”</p>
<p>Kyle finds his hand under his belly and holds it tight. “I love you too, dude.”</p>
<p>They wrap up in the blanket and get cozy, snuggling in the cramped backseat with Rivers Broflovski-Marsh. Kiss until they get hard again, then stroke each other together in their clasped hands, Stan rocking down against him as they frot. Kyle props himself up on elbow so they can tongue, and neither hear the crunch of gravel outside.</p>
<p>
  <em> Tak tak. </em>
</p>
<p>The muzzle of a gun knocks on the driver’s side window, and splits their mouths apart. There's a bright light shining in at them, and they cover their eyes with their hands. Caught in yet another spotlight.</p>
<p>“Fuck, cops?” Kyle asks, pulling the blanket back up to cover Stan’s ass.</p>
<p>The flashlight lowers, and Stan startles back when he sees the face squinting in at them.</p>
<p>Jimbo’s voice comes muffled through the glass. “Stanley?” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lovesong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>⚠ THIS CHAPTER HAS A GIF WITH FLASHING COLORS! ⚠ thanks MY5TIC_UN1C0RN for the gif help ^^<br/><br/>So glad to post this on Stan &amp; Kyle's anniversary. Happy Valentine's Day! 🥰<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><br/><strong>Spliff:</strong> a joint rolled with pot and tobacco</blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lights are out at Cartman’s house. Only the TV illuminates the living room. Kenny’s slumped back in the big armchair, clutching his glass pipe to his chest and dead staring as Enter the Void plays. Butters sits with Cartman on the couch, a foot between them and bong forgotten in his lap. He watches Kenny rather than the flickering television. This is the third night they’ve all spent together, and Butters typically loves his company, but Kenny’s usual enthusiasm is still gone. They even paid to rent his favorite film, but no one’s enjoying it.</p>
<p>“Ugh, I’m so bored.” Cartman pulls another handful of popcorn from his bowl as the camera flies over couples, all having sex with light blooming out of their crotches. “I can’t stand this artsy crap. If I have to see another chick flopping her tits on screen I’m gonna be sick.” He waits for Kenny to make some quip back, but he just watches on vapidly.</p>
<p>Butters hugs the bong, glancing between his boyfriend and his best friend. </p>
<p>Cartman grunts as the movie cuts to a close up of a woman’s face as she throws her head back in ecstasy. “God, now I see why you like this shit. Might as well just watch porn.”</p>
<p>He looks sidelong at Kenny. Squints impatiently for a joke. A defensive jab. Something. </p>
<p>Instead Kenny mumbles “You can change it if you want…”</p>
<p>Cartman groans and slouches deeper into the couch. Looks away so neither see his frustrated scowl become confused malaise. </p>
<p>The movie stays on. Butters watches Kenny with open concern as his eyelids droop. Eventually he falls asleep in the chair, glass pipe dangling in his limp hand.</p>
<p>Cartman moans “God, he finally knocked out,” as his big arms wrap around Butters and pull him back into his chest. They cuddle up together, and Cartman takes the bong to pack another bowl. “He’s worse than Stan the second Thightanic leaves the room.”</p>
<p>Butters pouts. “It’s really takin’ him a while to kick her.”</p>
<p>“Not everyone has their shit together like us.” He lights the bowl and rips it.</p>
<p>Butters grins, stroking shapes on Cartman’s chest with his finger. “Not everyone can be real with each other like us.”</p>
<p>Cartman huffs out the last of his smoke with a scoff. “‘Cause they front with everyone.” Butters takes the bong and Cartman holds the flame for him as he sucks. “Even themselves.” </p>
<p>Butters holds in as he settles back into him, and passes the smoke through a kiss. On the TV the movie ends suddenly and returns to the menu screen, and Cartman exhales with a scoff. </p>
<p>“No wonder shrink McCormick likes that movie so much. All Oedipus porn about wanting to fuck your mother.”</p>
<p>Butters snickers. “If only there was a movie about screwin’ Kenny’s dad.”</p>
<p>Cartman smirks and squeezes his waist as he lights again. “I’d watch two hours of that.”</p>
<p>Butters settles deeper into him as Cartman turns to blow smoke the other way. “Hey.” Butters smirks. “Remember when you asked me whose dad I’d screw out of everyone we know?” </p>
<p>Cartman sets down the pieces to embrace him again. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>Butters’ eyes are heavy, sweeping up his chest. “Or who’d I’d pick, if it were Tweek or Craig?”</p>
<p>Cartman snorts. “That’s a no brainer.”</p>
<p>Their lips brush as Butters asks “Then Stan versus Kyle?”</p>
<p>Cartman’s finger teases over his jaw, smirk sinister. “We spit-roast the hog and make hippie bitch watch.”</p>
<p>Butters grins into his mouth, eyes shut. “And I asked you if you’d dick Clyde, and you said—”</p>
<p>“I’d fuck him in the shitter and make him cry for his mommy.”</p>
<p>Butters cups his jaw. “I love bein’ able to say anything to you.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>They tongue, tasting like rancid pot smoke. Behind him their guest snores softly. When Butters pulls back he says “Remember when you asked if I’d fuck Kenny?” </p>
<p>“Sure do.”</p>
<p>Butters lays heavily against Cartman’s chest and nuzzles in. “You know I never would.”</p>
<p>He half shrugs, like he doesn’t care. “Why not? You can.”</p>
<p>Butters smiles. “I’m happy with just you.”</p>
<p>Cartman strokes his hair. “You never asked me if I’d fuck him.”</p>
<p>Butters eyes come alive and his grin is devious. He whispers “Would you?”</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Cartman pinches his ass. “If you get too loose.”</p>
<p>Butters giggles and kisses him again.</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>“I was really worried,” Uncle Jimbo says, setting his rifle strap up over the back of his camo armchair. “Spotted Randy’s truck and thought somebody stole it. I nearly blew you kids to kingdom come!”</p>
<p>Stan and Kyle glance at each other, still red in the face.</p>
<p>They’d scrambled to put their clothes back on, wondering how in hell neither remembered Jimbo’s house was just up the road. They were practically parked in his driveway. Both wanted to hide under the blanket and pretend no one was home, but when your crazed uncle with a gun taps on your window and says “The hell are you doing sleeping out here? Come on up inside,” you do as he says.</p>
<p>“How ‘bout a beer?” Jimbo asks, going to the kitchen like nothing’s amiss.</p>
<p>Kyle looks miserable, glancing about at all the game trophies. Stag and boar heads mounted on every wall, taxidermy birds on the bookshelf, a huge trout hanging over the mantle. The rest of the décor is dated, tacky wood paneling and brown shag carpet. It’s less of a man cave and more of a man fortress.</p>
<p>Stan tries not to look at the animals and play it cool. “I could really use a drink.”</p>
<p>“Atta boy!” </p>
<p>Jimbo digs around the chest freezer in the kitchen and tosses a can to him. Kyle sits up against the wall, avoiding eye contact, but then one’s hurled at him and he fumbles to catch it. </p>
<p>“Mmm are we cracking open a cold one?” Comes Ned’s tinny voice from the archway to the hall. He’s got an open robe on, and nothing else.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Ned!” Jimbo shouts. “Put some clothes on! We got guests!”</p>
<p>Ned disappears back down the hall and they crack their beers. Kyle drinks his down like water, cursing himself for getting caught again. They toss the empty cans in the bin and Jimbo grabs them a second.</p>
<p>“So how come you kids are way out here?” He asks. </p>
<p>Kyle sinks into the wall and Stan palms his beer as he glances up reluctantly. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Jimbo waves a hand. “No—It’s okay, I get it. Don’t wanna get caught by the old man.” He laughs. </p>
<p>Stan scrutinizes the linoleum tiles, dropping his gaze to hide the embarrassment. </p>
<p>Kyle jumps in to save him. “Look, whatever you think you saw—”</p>
<p>“No, Kyle,” Stan stops him. He heaves a sigh. “It’s not a secret anymore.”</p>
<p>“Well good for you,” says Jimbo, thrusting his can at them. “‘Bout time you came out.” They both look up surprised, and Uncle Jimbo’s got a proud grin that says he’s known longer than they both have. “How’d it go?”</p>
<p>Stan frowns. “Bad. My dad freaked out. He doesn’t approve at all.”</p>
<p>Jimbo’s shocked. “Really? Doesn’t sound like the Randy I know.”</p>
<p>“It’s not for being gay, it’s—” Stan grunts. Glances at Kyle, then down into his can. “Who I’m with.”</p>
<p>Jimbo pinches his lips. “You tell ‘em together?”</p>
<p>Stan scoffs. He swirls the beer around in his can. “My mom found us, actually.” It seems kind of funny at this point. He inhales with a sigh. “I just blurted it out to my dad and ran.”</p>
<p>Kyle blows his bangs out of his eyes. He’s nearly done with his second can, and it’s making him loosen up. Stop giving a shit about self-consciousness. “You think that sounds bad—My brother’s been overhearing us for weeks, and my cousin—” He spits out one spiteful laugh. Goes to down the rest of his drink. “Literally caught us in the act.” He crushes the empty can and scowls over at the pig on the wall. “I just lost my fucking mind and screamed it at my mom. She probably told my dad, and then this—Now everybody knows!”</p>
<p>He throws the can in the bin and thrusts out his hand, so Jimbo tosses him another. “Damn, you can drink like the rest of us!”</p>
<p>“I’m three-hundred and twenty fucking pounds,” Kyle snaps, cracking off the top. He looks at the wall as he brings it to his lips. “I need three beers just to feel buzzed.”</p>
<p>The kitchen goes quiet. Stan looks down in his can and shakes his head. “My dad doesn’t get it at all. We came out, and the only thing he’s said is how <em> disgusted </em>he is.”</p>
<p>“Well, to be fair, you didn’t really come out,” says Jimbo, making them both look over. “You were forced out. Or you outed yourself. Of course they’re gonna take it the wrong way if you scream it at ‘em.”</p>
<p>Kyle looks away with a scowl. He doesn’t need to hear this, especially not from Stan’s kooked up uncle. He knows he fucked his shot.</p>
<p>“What am I even supposed to do?” Stan asks. “I can’t make them change how they feel.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” asks Jimbo, shrugging his can. Ned enters again with some sweats and a T-shirt and goes to the fridge to hunt for a PBR. “Listen, Stanley. There's always gonna be judgement. If it's not for bein' gay it's for how you look together.” He juts his elbow over at his housemate. “Just look at me 'n' Ned. Got three arms between us and some other pretty stark differences. You don't think people ask 'Now, why do those two stick together?’”</p>
<p>Stan and Kyle blink back at him and Stan says “But you're war vets. You went through Vietnam together.”</p>
<p>Jimbo just shrugs. “You and Kyle are best friends, aren't you?” Like the difference is negligible. Stan and Kyle look speechless, so he goes on. “Point is, other people aren't gonna get it unless you make them. You have to come out, all the way.”</p>
<p>It gets Stan to shut his gape. Kyle looks away, and Stan stares at the linoleum, conflicted. Ned kicks the fridge shut and Stan looks up again to see Jimbo snap off the top of his beer without having to be asked. Ned sips it and steps past to hunt for his slippers in the living room. </p>
<p>Stan swallows. He looks back at his uncle. “Why didn’t you and Ned ever come out?”</p>
<p>Kyle whips his head over, startled by the accusation. Stan waits, expecting a laugh, or denial. Jimbo just considers his can of beer placidly and says “I dunno. Time’s weren’t right. Then you get to a certain age—Doesn’t really matter anymore.”</p>
<p>Stan’s brows scrunch, eyes pitying.</p>
<p>Jimbo looks up at him with firm resolution. “Tell them how it really is, and stop hiding.”</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>He shows them the guest room, where a huge bear pelt decorates the wall, and the queen sized bed is made up with a fox fur blanket. Kyle pulls it off and drapes it over the bear’s head as Stan undresses so they don’t feel it watching them sleep. Both strip naked and crawl in together, embracing for warmth.</p>
<p>Stan listens to Kyle’s deep breathing against his cheek as he drifts out, and wraps around him tighter. Lays against him in the black and tries to find sleep.</p>
<p>“I’m not ready.”</p>
<p>Stan cracks his eyes, surprised that Kyle is still awake. </p>
<p>“I’m not ready to face them.” Kyle hugs into his shoulder. “But I will be.”</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>When they get up, fifth morning of Passover, Uncle Jimbo is “cooking”. Breakfast is microwaved sausage patties on tortillas with shredded cheese and ketchup. </p>
<p>Kyle crinkles his nose, watching Jimbo wolf down his creation. “This is <em> sad</em>.” After going without any food since lunch yesterday? Tortillas aren’t gonna cut it.</p>
<p>“Feel free to cook something up, boys,” he says, sucking ketchup from his fingers. “But the fridge is pretty empty.” </p>
<p>Kyle gets up to rectify this. He scours the kitchen for ingredients, and by the time Stan returns from his power shower Kyle’s got two burners going on the stove. Jimbo and Ned inhale his toast and butter-basted eggs with sausage gravy, and Stan steps over to check out what’s cooking.</p>
<p>“Damn, you made all this?” He asks, leaning in to sniff the pot.</p>
<p>Kyle builds him a plate. “They didn’t have biscuits, so I improvised.” And he dumps a whole ladle of gravy on top of his toast. </p>
<p>Stan digs in, making a mess with his hand. It’s salty, greasy, hot, and so indulgent. “Fuck you’re awesome,” Stan moans, mouth full.</p>
<p>Kyle cracks another egg and spoons butter over it. It doesn’t look like he’s had a moment to eat, so Stan holds out some of his toast. Kyle chuckles and takes a bite, right over Stan’s.</p>
<p>“You picked a winner,” says Jimbo, chewing with his mouth open. He points at Kyle with his fork. “Keep this one around.”</p>
<p>Ned belches.</p>
<p>Kyle grins, going back to his basting. “I told you, dude. I cook, you clean.”</p>
<p>Stan smiles too, elbowing him. “Teach me.”</p>
<p>“Hah! Right now?”</p>
<p>“I could go for seconds!” says Jimbo, and they all gather around the stove to watch. </p>
<p>Kyle hands Stan the pan, wrapping around him to guide his hands, belly pressing into his back. They melt half a stick of butter and Kyle shows him how to skim off the solids to clarify it. Stan cracks an egg and Kyle holds his wrist to tilt the pan. He demonstrates how he bastes only the whites so the yolk doesn’t overcook. Stan takes over, and Kyle watches, just hugging him from behind.</p>
<p>“You do this and gravy at the same time?” Jimbo asks Kyle.</p>
<p>He gives Stan’s waist a reassuring squeeze. “Makes you wish you had a third hand, huh?”</p>
<p>Ned holds up his electrolarynx. “Mmm I’ll say.”</p>
<p>They laugh and Stan just smiles to himself. This is how it should be, he thinks. Simple and unquestioned. Wouldn’t it be nice to do this every morning—in California, but also tomorrow? Have breakfast with the family and just be so open that no one even blinks.</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>They climb back into the truck and Stan sticks the keys in the ignition. Lets them dangle while Kyle does his belt.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Stan says, putting a hand over his wrist. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Kyle looks over as he clicks the buckle in place, and smiles as he tugs out more of the strap. “Yeah. Your Uncle Jimbo’s not as bad as I remember.”</p>
<p>Stan smiles back. The truck comes to life and the clock shows half past eleven. No point in going back to school. They feel very in sync today, and hold hands over the center console while Stan drives. The intersection that will take them back to town comes up, and neither have to say anything. They merge onto 285, and drive north into the mountains. South Park recedes behind them, and the world feels open and free.</p>
<p>Kyle kicks his feet up on the dashboard and slings one hand behind his head. Let’s the bright March sun melt everything down and wash away. Listens to the stereo and just enjoys their solitude.</p>
<p>“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cI0QizfB7qo"><em>Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again. Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am whole again.</em></a>”</p>
<p>Denver comes up around the pass, spanning out across the horizon. Skyscrapers pass overhead and they roll their windows down to look up at them. Drive slow to admire sights as they pass, and point out places along the way. </p>
<p>They stop at a drive-thru for burgers, and Kyle leans over Stan to add a milkshake to their order. They eat sitting against the hood of the truck, sharing one straw. People walk by and give Kyle passing glances, but he’s grinning at Stan as he enjoys their drink. Stan offers him the straw, and Kyle pushes his wrist down to kiss him instead. Stan’s mouth is sweet and cold, and Kyle feels his hand snake around to squeeze his flank. Stan’s grinning against his lips. The thrill of being out here in the open where everyone can see but no one can catch them.</p>
<p>They restock on Astroglide then spend hours in an arcade, shooting baskets at the hoops game and playing Guitar Hero. Kyle’s eyes are locked on the screen, concentrating. Stan’s only paying half attention, and watching him instead. His eyes scan down Kyle’s taut clothes, belly standing out in his sweatshirt and pressing against the guitar controller. It rests in his lap, where thick thighs strain tight jeans, his legs tucked up on the foot ring of his stool.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Stan smiles and looks away with a blush. </p>
<p>Kyle’s so astonishingly cute. How can anyone not think so?</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>The day winds down. The sun sinks over the mountains, bathing everything in red and gold. They drive up to an abandoned lookout spot, high on the mountains over Denver. Stan backs the truck up to the ledge and they pop out the door to the bed. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-J7GF_ivsc">Leave the stereo running</a> and sit in the back to watch the sky change colors as city lights come alive below. </p>
<p>
  <em>"I think it's dark and it looks like it's rain, you said. And the wind is blowing like it's the end of the world, you said."</em>
</p>
<p>Kyle looks up at the endless sky, so huge all the way up here. A breeze runs up the cliff, softly blowing his hair. The last rays of sun paint over their faces, making him shut his eyes and inhale. He opens them again, lets the breath go. When Kyle looks to Stan he finds him already staring back. Stan smiles with the most amazed admiration, it takes him aback. Kyle grins too. </p>
<p>
  <em> “And it's so cold, it's like the cold if you were dead... And you smiled for a second.” </em>
</p>
<p>They take hands and lace their fingers, look back out over the city. Stan’s thumb pets the knuckles of his hand, and he says “Imagine this, forever.”</p>
<p>Kyle imagines. A bond so resolute nothing can shake it. </p>
<p>
  <em> “Sometimes you make me feel like I'm living at the edge of the world. Like I'm living at the edge of the world... It's just the way I smile, you said.” </em>
</p>
<p>They spread out the blanket in the bed of the truck and strip each other as they tongue. Kyle sprawls back against and lifts his arms to pull off his sweatshirt, but Stan takes his time. Kyle’s stomach is gold in the last light of day and Stan kisses the soft round of the top, then in the center of his chest. He traces his fingers over him, circles around Kyle’s naval and lower to slip into his pants. Stan grinds slowly against Kyle’s leg as he kisses his stomach, determined to cover every inch of him. </p>
<p>The air is cold but Stan’s chest is hot on his. Kyle cups the back of his neck to bring their mouths together again. He rolls them over and Stan falls seamlessly into his rhythm, rocking up against his gut with moaned confirmation. Kyle slides those pants off him and they’re embracing again, slick fingers stroking in Stan’s hole. Kyle nips along his neck and bites down his chest. One mark for all his favorite places. Stan’s throat, his collar, his breast, every ab, the inside of his thigh. He buries his face in and laps up Stan’s cock, loving his salty, musky taste. Kyle takes him in, and pets his prostate until he’s squirming.</p>
<p>“Please, Kyle,” Stan begs, fingers tangled in his hair. So Kyle pulls off and kisses his mouth instead. Lines up his cock and Stan relaxes to let him in. They clasp their hands and he sighs a moan, everything fits back into its place. </p>
<p>Kyle looks stunning on top of him, backdropped by the city glow. His eyes are shut as rocks them slowly. Focusing on the feeling of Stan around him, the way they move together in one smooth motion.</p>
<p>Kyle cups his face to kiss him as he builds up to the edge, and Stan moans desperately against his mouth. Kyle breaks to say “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Stan squeezes, wanting to pull all of him in. He’ll profess his love screaming down from the top of the mountain. “Me too.”</p>
<p>So they kiss again, Kyle stroking Stan’s cock between them, and hold together. Stan bites his lip, feeling Kyle throb and fill him. He breathes a moan, and comes too.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>They cuddle up in the truck, after the last shadow’s crawled up over the city and the sun has gone, cramped into the backseat with their bodies braided together. Kyle lays heavily into him as they power on his phone, and feels the rise and fall of Stan's chest.</p>
<p>“Everyone together,” Kyle says. “So they know we’re serious.”</p>
<p>Stan constricts him tighter. “You’ll be okay with my dad? After everything he said?”</p>
<p>“This is long term,” he says. “I’d rather have Dad-in-law know me as more than just ‘fat thong faggot’.”</p>
<p>“If he calls you gross, hold me back?”</p>
<p>Kyle grins. “As long as you keep me from killing my cousin on sight.”</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>Back at the Broflovski house Aunt Sadie’s tied up on the phone in the corner of the kitchen. “—Well I don’t know, babe, she says he just ran off. We checked the school and called all the neighbors, no one’s seen them since the baseball game—”</p>
<p>Sheila sits at the table, surrounded by crumpled tissues. Sharon’s beside her, rubbing her back as she blows into another Kleenex.</p>
<p>“Good god, Sharon, where could they <em> be?</em>” She laments, wiping her eye.</p>
<p>Sharon offers her the trash. “They’ll turn up.”</p>
<p>Sheila shakes her head, holding the tissue to her nose. “I should have seen this coming. There were so many signs.” She blows again and throws it away. “Sharing the bed, Stanley’s clothes in the laundry, the skimpy underwear—”</p>
<p>“You didn’t know because they didn’t want you to,” says Sharon, flashing back to Stan’s bedroom. Randy and the thong.</p>
<p>“Where are they gonna go? Where are they gonna sleep?” Sheila asks, pulling tissue after tissue out of the box. “They could be all the way in Mexico by now!”</p>
<p>“They’re probably just staying at a friend’s house. I doubt they’re very far.”</p>
<p>“What if they hurt themselves, Sharon?” Sheila covers her mouth, eyes huge. “What if they try to kill themselves?”</p>
<p>Sharon sighs. “They’re going to be okay. They always are.”</p>
<p>“Oh god, where did I go wrong?”</p>
<p>Ike watches nervously from the archway into the kitchen, and steps back into the living room to unlock his phone. Still no messages. He pulls up Kyle’s contact again and dials out.</p>
<p>On the couch cousin Kyle pats his chin worriedly. “Oh jeez, it feels like this is all my fault.”</p>
<p>Ike ignores him, looking away as the call goes to voicemail again. “Hey bro. You’ve got everyone sufficiently freaked out over here. <em> Please </em> turn on your phone. Mom is having a complete meltdown.” He glances back at the kitchen. “You better not do anything stupid. Just come back before this gets any crazier.”</p>
<p>Gerald sits on the back porch, drinking the last bottle of Manichewitz straight from the neck. He looks off at the dark mountains, and behind him the sliding glass door opens.</p>
<p>Randy steps out with another beer in hand.  “You thrown for a loop too?”</p>
<p>Gerald sighs. “More or less.”</p>
<p>He sits beside him, and drinks it as he looks out at the backyard. “Yeah. I can’t even wrap my head around it.” Randy pulls a joint and a lighter out of his breast pocket. Gets it going. </p>
<p>Gerald looks down into his bottle. “I guess I had my suspicions,” he admits. “Kyle never exactly wanted to talk about girls.” He makes one awkward laugh. “I once asked him if there was a type he was into and he said ‘Billie Joe Armstrong’.” His smile fades quickly, and he says with gravity, “Our boys. <em> Dating</em>.”</p>
<p>Randy throws out an open palm. “I just don’t <em> get it</em>, Gerald. Maybe <em> you </em> had hints, but this is out of left field for me!”</p>
<p>Gerald glances sidelong at him. “You really never considered Stan might be gay?”</p>
<p>Randy gawks. “What’s that supposed to mean?! He had a hot girlfriend—Excuse me for being surprised he’d go for Kyle!”</p>
<p>Gerald looks back with offense. “Hey—What’s so wrong about my boy?”</p>
<p>“Nothing! Just—” He scoffs, waving his joint. “You know!” He makes a wide gesture emanating from his stomach.</p>
<p>“Oh! So this is a <em> weight </em>thing!”</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s not my fault they don’t add up in the looks department! I’m supposed to think they’re a good match?”</p>
<p>Gerald gulps wine, the sweet taste gone bitter. “Apparently your son doesn’t care what you think.”</p>
<p>Sheila’s phone rings on the kitchen table, making everyone snap up and look. She snatches it up quick, and gasps in relief at the contact name. “It’s him!”</p>
<p>Ike hurries back to the archway and Gerald throws the sliding door open. They huddle around as she answers, putting the call on speaker.</p>
<p>“Kyle? Kyle are you okay?” She demands. “Where are you?”</p>
<p>His voice cuts through clearly, to their great relief. “<em>I'</em><em>m fine, Ma.</em>”</p>
<p>Sheila’s tearful countenance turns red-hot. “You come home this instant, young man!”</p>
<p>Gerald squeezes his wife’s shoulders. “Now Kyle, you’re not in trouble—”</p>
<p>“Yes he is!” She barks. “You are in so much trouble—”</p>
<p>“Sheila—”</p>
<p>Sharon leans in swiftly to ask “Is Stan there with you?”</p>
<p>“<em>He’s here.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Hi Mom.</em>”</p>
<p>“Are you safe?” She asks. “Are you stuck somewhere?”</p>
<p>“<em>We’re okay. We just needed to get away.</em>”</p>
<p>“Oh Stanley—” She looks at Randy, staring in from the sliding door. “You know your father doesn’t hate you—” She turns back to the phone. “Just please come home.”</p>
<p>Gerald adds “You too Kyle.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause, and then Kyle’s firm voice. “<em>We’ll come back—on one condition.</em>”</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>Henrietta’s bedroom ceiling is smoke stained. The air is choked. She lounges across her bed, taking slow hits on her quellazaire and staring into the rug. On the floor the boys roll spliffs while Firkle counts twenties in a fat, crumpled stack. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzRltUL5M3k">Deftones fills the silence</a> and Henrietta nods to the beat, but the familiar lyrics sound strange. Like actually hearing them for the first time. </p>
<p>“<em>I watched you change... into a fly. I looked away. You were on fire.</em>”</p>
<p>“You hear fag duo skipped town yesterday?” Michael asks, scrolling his phone.</p>
<p>“I just sold them a gram this morning,” says Pete, following a long stream of smoke.</p>
<p>“The other fag duo. Wonder boy and thunder thighs.”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”</p>
<p>Firkle taps the stack of bills into a brick. “You mean Romeo’s backup dancers?”</p>
<p>“God that was priceless,” says Pete. “I just wish we filmed it. I would watch it over and over and over again.”</p>
<p>Michael keeps scrolling. “Surprised he didn’t run off with them.”</p>
<p>“What an emo wannabe,” Firkle adds.</p>
<p>Michael stops to glance up at Henrietta. “Any more solicitations?”</p>
<p>She takes a long drag. Flicks her quellazaire to drop the ash, placidly unengaged. “Not a word.”</p>
<p>Firkle rubber bands the money and tosses it in the chest with the jewelry bags of powder and Tweek’s Adderall. “He finally took the hint.”</p>
<p>Pete looks actually intrigued. “Does this mean no more casual hookups?”</p>
<p>Henrietta’s eyes glaze his way, “Fantasize about it, fruitbat.”</p>
<p>“You know, I think I’m gonna miss the desperate passes,” Michael says, pointing his spliff at them. “What’s better than watching a poser’s Disney romance worldview shatter in real time? You could literally see his face fall as reality hit.”</p>
<p>Henrietta drops out of the conversation and looks the other way, chin sinking heavily in her palm. She pulls out her phone and opens to her messages. Kenny’s party invite comes up, unanswered from a week ago, and all his texts before that. She figured he’d have something to say by now. A follow-up. A compliment. A ‘hey’. Nothing.</p>
<p>“<em>I took you home. Set you on the glass. I pulled off your wings. Then I laughed.</em>”</p>
<p>Radio silence. </p>
<p>Michael goes on with mocking false concern. “Sorry you caught feelings and were taught love just works out. But hey—Congratulations on waking up.”</p>
<p>Pete blows a fat cloud of smoke and grinds his spliff in their ashtray. “Reason one million to never interbreed.”</p>
<p>Henrietta’s thumb hovers over her keypad. She stares at the blinking text cursor as she joins the collective “Yeah.”</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>In the dead of night Kenny stands out on his front lawn, arms hugged to his chest, chain smoking. The night is black around him, one light shining harshly from the stoop behind him. It’s not snowing, but the air is silent. No stars, no noise except his shuddered exhale. Vapid sound and vapid eyes, staring out into the deep black.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Footsteps crunch through the snow behind him. He looks back to see who, and there’s Butters in his teal blue parka and skinny jeans, gloved hands wedged up under his pits. </p>
<p>He offers Kenny a polite smile. “Hey there lil buddy.”</p>
<p>Kenny inhales through his nose, sighs out his mouth. “Hey Butts.”</p>
<p>Butters stands beside him, breath fogging his face as he looks up. “Cold night. You wanna come back inside?”</p>
<p>Kenny looks back out over the street. Sucks another drag. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>Butters watches with knit brows, then looks down at their boots. He scuffs his toe on the curb. “I thought you were going cold turkey?” He asks, eyes up on him again.</p>
<p>Kenny blows a long stream of smoke and stares at the cigarette smoldering in his hand. “Guess I’m just not over it.”</p>
<p>Butters presses his lips together with a look of concern. He glances down and has a seat. Tugs on Kenny’s parka. “Come and take a load off, Ken.” </p>
<p>Reluctantly he sits, and Butters hugs his arm. Kenny rests his head on Butters’ shoulder, hood falling back. He takes another drag, and Butters pets his hair. </p>
<p>“It’s been a few days now. I hate seeing you so busted up.”</p>
<p>Kenny strokes Butters’ calf through the denim, just to feel the texture. “I know dude…”</p>
<p>“We <em> both </em>hate it,” he amends. “Even if he doesn’t say it. Eric really cares.” Kenny’s quiet, listless. Butters swallows and asks “Kenny, was this girl really that special to you?”</p>
<p>He sighs smoke into the night air, and watches it fade away. Stares into the dark beyond, hurt and confused. “I just thought—something was starting. Something more than sex.” He squints down at the road, looking for an answer. “And I wanted to see what it was.”</p>
<p>Butters pouts, caressing his hair.</p>
<p>“Everyone’s got someone,” Kenny begins, but doesn’t finish the thought.</p>
<p>Butters gives him a pitying smile. “You’ve got us.”</p>
<p>Kenny shuts his eyes to suck the cigarette, and shakes his head. He looks back at it with dead eyes, too tired for contempt. “I just wish I could quit.”</p>
<p>Butters inhales and holds it. He squeezes Kenny’s arm. “There’s this trick I do for Eric, when he gets the urge to smoke. You want me to try it?”</p>
<p>Kenny exhales through his nose and glances to him. “Couldn’t hurt.”</p>
<p>Butters nods. “Alright. Close your eyes.”</p>
<p>He shuts them. Everything is dark and cold. Then warm. Faint breath, on his cheek. Soft lips, on his. Butters kisses him tenderly, and for a minute he just presses softly back. </p>
<p>They pull away, and Kenny stares back at him. Not shocked, but not expectantly either. “...What about Cartman?”</p>
<p>Butters smiles, appreciating the concern. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>Kenny looks back at the house, and Cartman stands on the front step, arms folded, watching them. Kenny stares back, finally surprised. The look he gets back is firm, but not hard. </p>
<p>“Sit back for me,” says Butters, and Kenny does so absentmindedly. He feels hands on his sweatpants, and it makes him jolt and drop his cigarette.</p>
<p>“Relax,” Cartman says behind him. </p>
<p>Butters slips his hand in to stroke his slight chub, and Kenny looks down with big eyes as he coaxes out the tip. The cold is biting, but Butters’ mouth is hot and wet. Kenny pants roughly, quickly going fully hard. His heavy breaths sound confused.</p>
<p>Cartman scoffs. “What? Your mistress of the dark never give you a blowjob?”</p>
<p>Kenny just gapes down at Butters, going down on his dick. His eyes flutter open, and then he’s gazing back up at him through gold lashes.</p>
<p>“Hold his head down,” Cartman commands. Kenny hesitates. It feels wrong to want to. He cups the back of Butters’ head, strokes his hair with his thumb, and applies pressure. “See what my slut can do.”</p>
<p>Butters takes him down to the base, opening up his throat for him. Kenny squeaks out a whine and presses on him with force. Butters takes it all with a gagging sound, but his eyes are smiling. He <em> likes </em>getting held down and choked. </p>
<p>It’s short work. Kenny pets Butters hair and yanks a fistful as he orgasms. Cries out and holds his hips up to come down Butters’ throat.</p>
<p>“Damn, you squeal like a bitch every time you come?” Cartman asks.</p>
<p>Kenny just pants and strokes Butters’ hair as he swallows. “Holy <em> fuck</em>, dude.”</p>
<p>Butters slides him out with a grin, cock still in hand. “Feel better?”</p>
<p>Kenny doesn’t answer. He’s too stunned. </p>
<p>Cartman kicks him in the back. “Get your ass back in the house and I’ll let him give you another one.” He holds out a hand and Butters takes it. Cartman pulls him up out of Kenny’s lap. “Cold as Satan’s tits out here.” He opens and closes his fist at Kenny impatiently. “Come on, don’t go catatonic.”</p>
<p>Butters smiles and holds his out too. </p>
<p>Kenny blinks out of his stupor. His two best friends are standing over him, offering their hands. He tucks his dick back into his sweats with a cautious smirk and takes both. They haul him up off the curb, out of the funk, and he slings his arms over their shoulders as they head back up the lawn. “You two are perfect assholes, and I love you.”</p>
<p>Butters works his jaw side to side. “You better! I think you popped my jaw.”</p>
<p>“Does that mean I’m bigger than fat tits?”</p>
<p>“I’m big boned, <em> straight boy</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Untitled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter takes place the same day as chapter 8. Originally they were one chapter, but uh, you'll see why I broke them up after reading them 😂</p>
<p>This chapter is for my mom, you're the Sheila to my Kyle ♥ And happy first night of Passover!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stan and Kyle sleep in late, and procrastinate on heading back. Get food. Get gas. Drive slow going south on 285.</p>
<p>It’s early evening when Stan pulls up to the curb across from the Broflovski house. For a while they both just sit in the truck, wearing their ripe clothes from two days before, and stare at it. The house stares back. </p>
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</div><p>Stan squeezes Kyle’s hand. “Ready?”</p>
<p>Kyle inhales deeply and nods. “Ready.”</p>
<p>Their parents sit slumped around the unlit living room, Sharon and the Broflovskis on the couch, Randy in the armchair nursing a beer. They wait as the clock ticks, and raise their heads hearing the front door unlock. Sheila jumps up to get it.</p>
<p>“Honey—” Gerald follows swiftly.</p>
<p>Kyle pushes the door open with Stan beside him, hands to themselves. Sheila’s marching straight for him with a fiery expression and he locks up like he’s caught in headlights.</p>
<p>“Kyle!”</p>
<p>Gerald’s not quick enough to stop her. </p>
<p>She throws her arms around him in a crushing embrace. Her voice shudders. “Oh thank god you’re safe.” </p>
<p>Kyle looks at Stan with startled eyes, but hugs back. Stan’s just as surprised, and looks past at his parents. Sharon’s coming over too to usher them in, and offers him a restrained smile. Randy stays put, looking away.</p>
<p>Sheila pulls back, gripping Kyle’s shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking young man! You know how much you scared me?!”</p>
<p>He groans exasperatedly. “Mom…”</p>
<p>She chops a finger in his face. “Don’t ever run off like that again! What if something happened to you?!”</p>
<p>Gerald lays hands on her shoulders. “Now honey, let’s let them talk.”</p>
<p>Sharon guides them back to the living room. “Come on in, boys.”</p>
<p>There’s already two chairs pulled from the dining table set out for them, so everyone takes their seats. Stan and Kyle scoot theirs together so they touch, a united front. Everything settles. No one says a word. Randy watches the rug. Sharon’s smile is small and patient. Kyle’s parents resituate, make themselves look attentive. Move their hands like they’re unsure where they go and settle on clasped over the knee. Everyone waits for them expectantly.</p>
<p>Kyle turns to Stan, already feeling hot in the face and queasy. Stan looks expectant too, eyes asking if Kyle wants him to speak first. No. Kyle needs to set this right.</p>
<p>So he swallows his fear, opens his mouth, and speaks. </p>
<p>“Well, as you guys already know… Stan and I… are together. We have been for a little while, and we’re not ashamed of it.”</p>
<p>“It’s pretty serious,” Stan adds, hand finding his. This is the point that needs to come across. “It’s not just experimenting or sneaking around—We’re boyfriends. We go on dates and stuff. It’s normal.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s parents listen intently, and Gerald asks “How long has this been going on?”</p>
<p>Kyle looks to Stan. “Uh, since Valentine’s day. We went to that party and Stan was my date.” He leaves out the graphic details, the drunk, impulsive sex. “We really hit things off, so… we decided to go right ahead and make it exclusive.”</p>
<p>His folks seem surprised, but make no comment.</p>
<p>Stan adds “It’s been really good. We communicate and we’re really happy. Everything’s worked out so far.”</p>
<p>Kyle watches his parents and he can feel the hurt look in his mother’s eyes. He sighs, looking to her. “I’m sorry I screamed at you and left. I didn’t want you to find out this way—but you made me feel like I didn’t have a choice.”</p>
<p>Gerald overturns his palm. “Why didn’t you just tell us?”</p>
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</div><p>“We wanted to,” says Kyle. “At Seder.” His voice is hard. “You guys really didn’t seem that interested in what <em> I </em> had to say.”</p>
<p>“Of course we did—”</p>
<p>“No, you didn’t!” he snaps. </p>
<p>In the dark hallway at the top of the stairs Ike and cousin Kyle sit listening as his voice rises from below. </p>
<p>“This whole family get together has been everyone gushing over Stan, and reminding me that you all think I’m a fat loser. You never even thought I could get a date!”</p>
<p>Ike glances at Schwartz, and he can barely read his pitiful expression.</p>
<p>Sheila looks wounded. “That’s not true, Kyle.”</p>
<p>He throws up an arm. “Well now I’m out—and all I see is how shocked everyone is! Why shouldn’t I be able to date someone who’s really attractive?”</p>
<p>Stan has to rub his mouth and look away to hide his bashful smile. Sharon catches it and lays a hand over her breast.</p>
<p>“It’s not because we thought it couldn’t happen—” Gerald says, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s just a surprise you two have been keeping this a secret for so long.”</p>
<p>Kyle sighs, anger deflating. “It’s only been a month and a half, it’s not like we’ve been hiding for years.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Stan says, turning to him and squeezing his hand, “we’ve loved each other for years.”</p>
<p>“Oh, dude, don’t tell them <em> that…</em>”</p>
<p>Sharon withholds comment, just squeezing her own hand.</p>
<p>Gerald and Sheila take this in, and the former asks “Your brother knows, I take it?”</p>
<p>“He knows,” Kyle says, looking back to them. “And my cousin.”</p>
<p>“All our friends are cool with it,” Stan adds. “Uncle Jimbo and Ned know—”</p>
<p>Randy scrunches his brows, finally reacting. “What? Why’d you tell them?”</p>
<p>“—It’s out. It’s open,” Stan continues. “It’s no big deal.”</p>
<p>Gerald pinches his lips, caught on Kyle’s words. “Is this why you’ve been acting so hostile toward your cousin? You’re both gay?” Beside him Sheila looks pensive.</p>
<p>Kyle flushes. “We’re not talking about him right now, alright? I’m sick of you always putting him first, and letting him butt in on everything I do, like my feelings don’t matter.” He’ll be damned if he has to endure another lecture about tolerating that intrusive dipshit. Kyle jabs his finger into his leg repeatedly. “This is about me. Me, and Stan.” </p>
<p>Cousin Kyle stands and shuffles away into the hall. He can’t listen anymore. Ike watches him go, then turns back again. Watches the shadows on the wall cast from the light in the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Gerald agrees. “I’m sorry, this is all really new.”</p>
<p>Sheila takes his hands in hers, deep concern written across her brow. “Have you felt safe? You haven’t been gay bashed or anything?”</p>
<p>Kyle huffs. “Mom, it’s South Park. Everyone knows we’re together, our friends have been supportive. We go out and we’re open—no one cares that we’re gay, it’s mainly just—” he sighs. <em> How we look together. </em></p>
<p>Gerald looks more reassured. He nods along. “Okay—What about UCLA?” </p>
<p>A question Kyle wasn’t expecting. “What do you mean? We’re still going. Still rooming together.”</p>
<p>Randy slurps his beer loudly, eyes darting away with unease.</p>
<p>“You’re sure you’ll be ready?” Gerald asks. “Living together is a big step.” </p>
<p>Kyle points his parents out. “Mom moved in with you in college—and you guys had just met. Stan and I have known each other our entire lives—we’ll have been dating for over half a year by then.”</p>
<p>Stan has to fight down smiling like a freak, and Sharon beams openly.</p>
<p>Sheila looks from her husband back to the two of them, sitting flush and unified. A strong front. “We just mean, what’s your plan, bubbe?”</p>
<p>Kyle and Stan look to each other. Kyle thinks about the promise they made in the truck. Getting married. Changing their names. Swearing to their love, forever. He gulps at how naïve it sounds. They’re only eighteen for Christ’s sake. Kyle’s eyes fall on Stan’s warm smile, and it reassures him. “...Just try to make it work, I guess.” And he feels Stan’s hand squeeze his.</p>
<p>Gerald hesitates to ask. “And what about with other things? I mean—are you having sex?”</p>
<p>Sharon shuts her eyes with vicarious embarrassment. Randy pulls a face.</p>
<p>Oh god. Kyle hunkers down and grimaces. “Please don’t make me answer that.”</p>
<p>“Well are you at least using protection?”</p>
<p>He groans. “<em>Dad.</em>”</p>
<p>“Sorry—” Gerald holds Sheila’s hand in both of his. “We just care about you being safe.” </p>
<p>Kyle blushes and looks off, but he’s fighting back the smallest grin. The Broflovskis accept the non-answer. Sharon watches in silent support, heart clenching when Stan leans over to bump him and lace the fingers of their hands. First love.</p>
<p>Kyle blows a raspberry, leaning back on Stan. “It’s fine. Please don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>Gerald pinches his lips and nods. “Alright. Okay,” he says with finality. Like peace has settled.</p>
<p>Randy’s still squinting with disbelief. “So that’s it. You’re gay. You’re both gay—together.”</p>
<p>Stan’s look is cautious, but he holds back a retort for the sake of civility. “Kyle is gay, I’m bi. He likes dudes, I like dudes and chicks.”</p>
<p>“And you’re with him?” Randy asks, voice hard. Sharon groans into her hand. And this was such a nice moment too.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Dad,” Stan says forcefully. “It’s not a hard concept.”</p>
<p>“Well—” Randy huffs. “If you like chicks then why don’t you just date that girl Wendy again?”</p>
<p>Stan gapes. “I don’t want to be with Wendy, Dad. I’m telling you I’m with Kyle.”</p>
<p>He turns to Sharon as he throws an arm toward Kyle’s chair. “And you’re just <em> okay </em>with this?”</p>
<p>“What is so wrong with him!” Stan demands. “We’ve been best friends our whole fucking lives and suddenly you have issues!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>“Best <em> friends,</em>” Randy emphasizes. “But—come on—dating? I mean—what are people gonna think, huh? What are people gonna say!”</p>
<p>“I don’t care what anyone thinks—” Stan says. “And neither does Kyle.”</p>
<p>“You seriously want to tell <em> grandpa </em>you’re dating him? Or what about the guys at the bar, huh? ‘Oh hey Randy, how’s your little star athlete? Bet he gets the pick of the litter!’ What am I supposed to say?”</p>
<p>Kyle’s parents watch the exchange with affronted shock. Kyle’s stunned too, but letting this ride.</p>
<p>“You’re the only one who seems to have a problem with this!” Stan puts a protective hand on Kyle’s leg. “Kyle and I are happy together. He’s the only person I want.”</p>
<p>Randy gawks at their contiguity, his son is <em> touching </em>his fat thigh. “So, what, is this—A fetish for you or something?”</p>
<p>Sharon gasps. “Randy!”</p>
<p>Stan gapes with offense. “So I either have to hate his weight or that’s the <em> only </em> reason I like him?” His grip constricts. “I <em> love </em> Kyle. I love everything about him, including how he looks.”</p>
<p>Kyle blushes, wishing his parents weren’t hearing this. His embarrassment only gets worse when Gerald chimes in, saying “Lots of guys prefer bigger women, Randy. That doesn’t make it deviant.”</p>
<p>“Well yeah, but that’s fat <em> chicks!</em>”</p>
<p>“Dad!” Stan warns.</p>
<p>Randy whips back to him. “But you could get with anyone you wanted!”</p>
<p>“Dad—” Stan holds a steady stare on him, and Randy finally shuts up. "If you ever want to talk to me again after I move out, then figure out a way to accept this. Because I will choose Kyle over you every time." </p>
<p>Kyle looks back at Stan with a blinking gape, and Randy’s in shock too. Everyone’s watching him, but Stan holds firm. Stare resolute.</p>
<p>Randy drops his gaze to the floor. He hasn’t felt this sober in ages, and his beer is unbearably empty. He turns over a palm, like this is the most arduous task ever asked of him. “Jeez, alright, if it means <em> that </em>much to you.”</p>
<p>Stan squeezes Kyle’s hand. It takes all his will to hold back his thoughts. <em> You fucking better. Kyle’s going to be your goddamn son-in-law. </em> “He means everything to me.”</p>
<p>Sharon clutches her chest and sniffs. She stands and goes to them, throwing her arms around their necks in a big hug. Kyle freezes up and glances at Stan. </p>
<p>“I’ve got such a good boy,” she whispers, holding them tight to her shoulders. She kisses Stan’s temple.</p>
<p>He sucks in sharp and hugs back. His hard defense can come down, and he shuts his eyes to keep from tearing up. “Thanks Mom.”</p>
<p>Sharon squeezes Kyle’s shoulder as she pulls back. “You too.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Mrs. Marsh…”</p>
<p>When she lets go they see Kyle’s parents have stood too, and come over to him. Sheila rubs her cheek to catch a tear and Gerald opens his arms, so they stand. Kyle embraces his parents with an awkward pat.</p>
<p>“Don’t ever think we don’t care about you,” Gerald says into his hair. “Gay or straight; big or thin.” </p>
<p>Kyle whines. So embarrassing.</p>
<p>He pulls back and Sheila holds him a moment longer. “We love you, bubbe. And I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell us. We would have done things differently.”</p>
<p>Kyle softens. “I know, Ma.”</p>
<p>Her expression turns stern and she points a finger. “But don’t think you’re not still in trouble for running off!”</p>
<p>He groans.</p>
<p>“We want to support you,” Gerald assures, looking at him and Stan, “if this is what you want.”</p>
<p>Sharon’s holding Stan’s shoulder and nods in agreement. “You know I love you, Stanley. Is there anything you need right now?”</p>
<p>Gerald adds “Yes, anything we should be doing?”</p>
<p>Stan and Kyle look to each other, neither knowing what to say. Then, Stan turns to Randy, standing by himself and scuffing his shoe on the carpet. </p>
<p>“Dad,” Stan says, making him look up. “I want you to apologize to Kyle.” </p>
<p>“Whuh—” Randy objects. “For what?”</p>
<p>“For everything.” Stan glares. “You called him <em> disgusting</em>. You said horrible things about him.”</p>
<p>Sheila scowls in outrage. Now she’s the one with a protective hand on her son. “Excuse me? He <em> what?</em>”</p>
<p>“Well yeah, but—Come on—” Stan doesn’t let up. Randy heaves a breath in exasperation, and spits “I’m sorry Kyle.”</p>
<p>“Like you mean it, Dad.”</p>
<p>Randy frowns uncomfortably, all eyes on him. For the first time he actually looks at Kyle, who stares impassively back. Stan’s hands squeeze his boyfriend’s shoulders. Even standing behind him, Stan looks protective. Committed.</p>
<p>Randy sighs. “I’m sorry I said those things about you, I should have kept it to myself.” Kyle resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You know—I don’t actually have a problem with you, or fat people! I’m just concerned what others are gonna think, you know, seeing you two together—” Stan glares, and he wraps it up. “But I’m sorry. Won’t do it again.”</p>
<p>Sharon sighs heavily. “Alright Randy, that’s enough for the evening.” She turns him toward the door and whispers to Sheila. “I am <em> so </em> sorry about him.” </p>
<p>“Please, Sharon, we already know.”</p>
<p>Sharon turns back to her son. Stan and Kyle stand together, whispering. </p>
<p>“Stanley,” she says, making them look over. Her eyes are soft, maternal. “Come home, Stan. Sleep in your own bed tonight.”</p>
<p>“You too, Kyle,” adds Gerald. “It’s getting late.”</p>
<p>They look back at each other solemnly, but what can they do? Stan cups Kyle’s elbow and looks back at their parents. “Can I at least say goodbye?”</p>
<p>Sharon smiles. “Just come back before it gets too dark. Oh—And before we go—” She digs into her large shoulder bag. “This is yours.” She pulls out the letterman jacket, freshly laundered, and holds it out—for Kyle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sheila watches from her bedroom window as Kyle bids goodbye to Stan at the front curb. Stan’s parents have long driven back to the farm, leaving him behind with the truck. The MARSH 05 is clearly visible across Kyle’s back as he leans into Stan, and they hold each other as they kiss passionately against the passenger side door.</p>
<p>“Told you they wouldn’t let us sleep together anymore…” Kyle says when they break.</p>
<p>Stan holds his forehead on Kyle’s. “We always have the truck.”</p>
<p>Kyle shuts his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Stan against him so he remembers it all night. “I love you.”</p>
<p>Stan blinks back at him, and brushes a tangle of hair from his face as he goes to kiss him again.</p>
<p>“I love you too, dude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kyle climbs the stairs back inside after Stan leaves and heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As he passes his parents’ room his mother emerges in her pink nightgown. </p>
<p>“Kyle?” She calls, making him turn. “Come on inside my room a minute.”</p>
<p>Gerald’s downstairs on the phone, so it’s just the two of them. They sit together on the edge of the bed, and Sheila holds her hands over her lap pensively. “We should have had this talk a long time ago... It's hard being a big kid. I know, I was one too. with the comments and the stares—"</p>
<p>Kyle looks back in surprise. “It’s okay Mom, really.”</p>
<p>“Well I just want you to know—your father and I love you no matter what." She sighs heavily. "You know I always want you to be happy, above everything else.” </p>
<p>She looks over at the pictures along the bookshelf. Old school photos, progressing through the years. Pictures from the wedding, with Gerald posed beside her massive white gown. </p>
<p>“Dating is so hard, I never had a boyfriend when I was your age,” she says. “Sure there were boys, but none of them wanted to go steady. No one wanted to be seen dating a heavy girl." </p>
<p>Kyle pinches his lips together, brows drawn with pity. He remembers the week following Valentine’s Day, when she asked him how his date went. How despondent she seemed when he lied and said “It didn’t work out.”</p>
<p>Sheila goes on. "College is different. you meet new people, more open minded. I met your father when he was still in school, and he was different.” She looks at the family photo. Skinny dad, skinny Ike, big fat mom and her big fat son. “My biggest hope for you has always been that you'll go out, and find a partner who loves you and wants to share their life with you."</p>
<p>He swallows. “I know, Mom...”</p>
<p>She nods, stroking one thumb over the other. “Stan is a nice boy.” Kyle nods, eyes on the floor. “You really love him?”</p>
<p>Oh god. Kyle rubs his flushed face as he looks away. “Yeah…” Stan. His Stan. Kyle shakes his head in disbelief. “He’s… great.”</p>
<p>There’s a hand on his shoulder and Kyle looks up. Sheila rubs down his back with tears in her eyes, and pulls him into a tight embrace. He hears her suck in a harsh breath, and Kyle wraps around her too.</p>
<p>“You deserve so much love, bubbe."</p>
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<p>There’s one more thing Kyle has to do before he sleeps. He goes to his room once he’s done brushing, and finds cousin Kyle on his way out with his bags packed. Kyle looks him over, surprised. He and Aunt Sadie aren’t supposed to leave until Sunday.</p>
<p>“Oh, h-hey cousin Kyle,” says Schwartz, pushing up his glasses. “I was uh—You can have your room back now. I’m gonna go sleep in the guest room with my mother. Sh-She snores like hell and it keeps me up, but—you know.” </p>
<p>Kyle clicks his mouth shut, dropping his gaze. “Sounds good.”</p>
<p>“I figure, this way we don’t have to see each other the rest of the trip.” </p>
<p>He shuffles past into the hall, and Kyle turns around. “Look, dude. I don’t <em> hate </em> you for being gay, if that’s what you thought this was about. You took my fucking moment and that pissed me off. Stan is my boyfriend, and I’m sorry you have issues with guys ‘cause of your weight—you don’t think I was the same way before we got together?”</p>
<p>Schwartz looks back. “It’s okay, Kyle, really. Let’s just forget about the whole thing.”</p>
<p>Kyle frowns. He’s trying to get this out now, before there’s lingering resentment beyond this family meetup. “Well do you understand why I’m mad you kept trying to butt in on us?”</p>
<p>“Well jeez—Kyle—C-Can’t we just leave this alone? I mean, I had to see you getting shacked up in a Rameses costume. I got enough problems to deal with already, I know you’re pissed.” He looks away, pitifully small and ashamed. “Just let me slink away so I don’t have to bother you anymore...”</p>
<p>Kyle considers dragging this out, but now he just feels bad too. “Ugh, alright.”</p>
<p>He lets him go and shuts his bedroom door, then changes out of his disgusting shirt and pants. Kyle slips on his last thong, wondering how he managed to lose the others so quickly. Deep blue will have to do.</p>
<p>Kyle settles into bed, otherwise naked, and plugs in his phone. It powers on again, and before he can text Stan a new alert pops up. It’s Butters, probably from earlier when his phone was off.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Asshole 2</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:41 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">Hey!!! Are you and Stan eloping or what???? Make sure ur back by tomorrow for Kenny’s bday 💕 you two are on catering 😊</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle rolls his eyes. Of course, they’re missing for two days and they get shafted with food duty. Cheap bastards. </p>
<p>Kyle frowns, thinking about Kenny. He gets to work on a reply and before he can hit send a new text comes in. Above it is a selfie of Stan laying in bed with Rivers hugged to his chest.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">SBF 🐬💙</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:42 PM</span><br/>
<a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/5dbdb658c399cec0e632ffcbabff9d2c/c67be144b40ce7cb-30/s1280x1920/eefe65ab3d1df8eb97fde08a0e0c67f4d5847528.png"><span class="image"></span></a><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">Bed feels empty without you</span>
  </p>
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<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Kyle smiles. He rolls over on his stomach, opens his camera, and sends one back.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">SBF 🐬💙</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:42 PM</span><br/>
<a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/5dbdb658c399cec0e632ffcbabff9d2c/c67be144b40ce7cb-30/s1280x1920/eefe65ab3d1df8eb97fde08a0e0c67f4d5847528.png"><span class="image"></span></a><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">Bed feels empty without you</span>
<a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/3fb00b0742300b68d9a25ce88d5a930a/1ade97bafae22e99-02/s2048x3072/e6acca1a003143bc353e988284cd0db3b304f700.png"><span class="kyleimage"></span></a><br/>
<span class="breply">My ass feels empty without you</span><br/>
</p>
</div><div class="phone"></div>
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